Denying his name, the son of Chaos conglomerates dust and smells of gunpowder

A thin tentative tattoo cloaks his berth with stony raiment

Purposefully defines and un-defines, sharps scarp-blunting and blurring

 

Foam-formed fragments conceal the underlayment of gray bone

Attraction forms in vacuum

Clings in static

No rushing stifling air, vaporous and dissembling

 

Annoying and binding at the same time

Like when sand falls relentlessly back into my digging

But makes the edges wider, suddenly more open

 

I want to expose this errant body’s core, yet regolith is expert camouflage

And pervasive, a mattered flood of unresolved energy

Ever superior to our collective volition where everything is portended

 

But uncloaked, akimbo, the arms of the galaxy are lavishly naked

 

 

 

©2017 eolon