Lonesome (By Terror and the Sky)

Heaving the emaciated corpse of my body

out of bed in the penitent morning,

obedient as a stone,

I realize

when dusk has come then,

I've been left to rot as apples

or the film reel of memory, ashes

in a day or two, at most,

I shall be gone

when Time wraps herself around me,

dissolves me to my core, leaves me like

the sedimentary remains of the Earth

out of whose bowels I have sprung,

the scum of treachery. 


There is no repairing

the wretched or benign,

not well-aligned, whatever:

he who wishes lofty,

but is tied-up by terror and the Sky,

he is of me,

is me, thus. 



after "Lonesome" by Dr. Dog

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2020


BC, Canada