Bezels Holding the Dream of the Long Sea

There’s a window in the forest
You can see through time’s brambles

Back to an age of churning
When our bones were future’s murmurs

There’s a door in the last wave
At the shelf of the world

Where the sea flakes to sleep
And old age and hiss and milk

The keyhole in the high night winks turns
Brings out the proletarian sun
How do you do it everyday

The world is not far away
It’s closer than the cuttlefish
The wave spins inside the wave

Bezels Holding the Dream of the Long Sea

wythe

Joined December 2007

  • Artist
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Artist's Description

Old thoughts on old life, dense swamp of mossy ocean eating the ocean, churned by the sun. Etc.

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