non

[Joshua Bailey]

least thought but not last, the 3rd second goes forth,

into the almost forgotten first past once again as always,

lost for words, forked tongue passed the turn,

at the top of a hill in a bottomless well, ashes burned,

shadows cast the urn, morgue mathematics,

the molten quill tip drips liquid crystal fractals backwards,

as sand splashes in floating hourglasses afterwords,

weight/wait less no matter, black holes orbit over all of the holiest chapters,

stoned to death like all great philosophers, in G-D we trust, all others

we monitor. 

JB