The Archaeology Of Consciousness

darktimax

Poetry is solely
the archeology
of consciousness,
the pot-shards
of a mind
whose true
experience
can just be
guessed at.
When you read it
you discover
mere pieces,
not the original
arrangement.
You try to wonder
them back
together,
but can’t quite.
When you write it,
you leave clues
for scientists
yet to arrive
who will never
fully understand
who you were,
which is OK
because you
never did either.


If you like this piece, and can afford it, please consider sending me a buck or two at Paypal. Once I have enough, I’m off to see the Wizard!

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.