strata

Photo by Ivars Krutainis on Unsplash

we were there because we ran out of room.

time always spinning and these the dizzy remains.
too big to linger, too toxic to discard the usual way
(averting our eyes and slamming the lid).

so we load it up, carefully. the future can be sullied too.

like giant ants, but weaker, creeping
in and up and around until we find the sacred place —

the biggest fossils, the freshest pain.
there, a mountain of embarrassing moments, laid bare.

then, messy mitosis, sinking, sifting
until there’s nothing but us and rust and dust.

above it, below it, among it
we breath it in, whisk it with our blood,
embalm it like a one-night stand.

and for what? our corpses on the pile now,
we steal away as ghosts.

Read another poem… “volcanica”