The Drag

Dry, palpable eyes

circle round my head

like angels of rain.

Inexhaustible wells,

rusted pipes over sand;

all we are

is held within

the crooked fingers

of ever-dying men,

of ever-failing stars.

10/09/2014

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2018

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada