those jungian sins
vowels sounds hands pointing down
mosaics of a prewritten history
arching backwards over our heads
down a knotted line.
No sounds whilst in the wild
Just animals Stalking the ground
Where the architecture once lay
you will now see a lovers ruin
the temple to the first known verse.
Have you ever tried
writing a play about the
planets casting dark clouds
in the waves of woven sands.
These are mean feats erasing Sands
that scroll in the palms of a hand
whilst pulling in the nets at night
Weaving spinning threads.