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Life is MAG
December 31, 2012
The way the boy slices
Raw fish in the open market
Not by the neck
But in even chunks
The squinting expression
Of the gas-station man
As he stoops in the sunlight
Amid flickering dust
The long lovely drowsing
Of an old man at peace
His mulberry face
In the deepening dusk
Violent, beautiful
Peaceful and pained
A whorl of words
Decaying with rust
Lights snapping off
Flames rising high
Cords tearing apart
Death's insatiable lust
© Steve S., Marblehead, MA
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Not until we are lost do we begin to find ourselves.<br /> -Henry David Thoreau