Down, down

Down, down

I was a one of many times, but once
Among the ruins I built for myself
An ageless ticking hour-glass—
I followed and tripped a flailing grain.

Down, down, Down! Through the
River-hole that marks the tumble I took-
And fell flatly flatly onto its floored space.
It was a meaningless mangle.

The pottingest pans like sunflowers
Dying in the fast winter sunlight—
I was the most lost—
And so torn from the terrace of my terminal.

And the items that littered its dust—as if forgotten
And I had once thought I had been timeless—
But the dust had fallen fallen dust beneath my nose—
Rain on a dotted bare dry tarnish

How horrible my plight I saw!
A weary mouse scratching bloody
Hands across the tired tubes I laid for myself
Along to my bed

Of somewhere—soft and clean shavings
That will be warm---
And now my finger-nails bend backwards
Because I grab at things that cut them.

And then falling falling turn
Through a break I did not see or know
Where soon, I suspect a thud of me.

Between I’ll leave no mark
But a spread space through soil

Finally