Non-Erotic PoetryMayflywe reside for a single day
in decaying brains,
tasting their dreams
their thoughts
their memories.
We are not the
thoughts memories dreams
not the person, not even
the riverbed through which they flow.
We flit through a web of shadows,
now a rock, a fish, a dying star,
the psychic cement that
binds the universe,
all memory lost
in rotting corpses
and granite cliffs
soon to be dust.
We rise with the dust,
floating inescapably
in space/time/mind, our lives
of no more importance than a dragonfly's
and of no less importance
than a god's.
.
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