With spades, pointed like a mouse
Bit by byte,
Ageless threads, by immortal authors
They dig
Minds rumbling
Eyes zapping
They seek
Now and then
Riches of the ages, or scums from the past
Buried bruises, aging agony
Silent sadness, sacred sayings
They find
Thither, whither their spades
Pointed like a mouse’s
Bit by byte
Ageless threads, by immortal authors
To the fore, they bring
Grave diggers
Man mole they are?
Those who read this, also read:
Fleeting Breath (Aka Dying Diane)
Beyond Death
I pass my neighbour
Thursday, April 22, 2010
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