2.8

#Detritus

I, once,
wrote a poem so dark
that it escaped, took flight
became a bassline for the culture
that infected all who heard it. Who heard it?
Crackheads for this beat
like krishnas walking in the street,
anointed particles of sand
slipping through an hourglass; spinning,
falling, counting down
to the inexorable and heralded
surrender of persons and collective mind to the
one
true
Self.


I, once,
played a bassline so dark
it inspired in me
a million darker poems