Pilgrimage through rising dunes

There lies a man on his back
whose hollow face speaks
wearily to the dead at noon.
Noontime now. Bones whittled
into mere twigs once in stride
stare from all around,
interrogating, curious,
deader than food but leery
of the sun. The sun inside
his head explodes & strokes
a dim internal erogeny
–this place was once a city–
which in this the blazing noon
is but a bed of rising dunes
into a look of looking through.
“Soon,” he says, “to nowhere soon,”
& soon the starving vultures loom.


~ by Jeremy on May 15, 2010.

2 Responses to “Pilgrimage through rising dunes”

  1. Powerful, wording with poetic resonance that poses the haunting question of what has become of me and was it all for nothing, am I forever doomed for my mistakes and perhaps there is no heaven or hell but only the in between which for me now, is hell. Grat piece.
    Marcus T.

  2. More a visual hopelessness of what can befall humanity after humanity is unrecognisable, but as Dylan Thomas said, every poem is a city with many entrances.

    Certainly nothing about heaven or hell. I avoid those fictions heartily.


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