Philosophy

The billowing of the nations trash

A tunnel of wind, swirling the pieces of paper

High above our heads, getting high in the heavens

Looking down

Whispering a name from mouth to ear

Time passes fast up in the land of the past

Time stops in the Holy land

Searching the horizon for the future ahead

That’s where the sun grows

Clenches the earth’s dark dirt, hanging on by one hand

It cries for the moon to help it up

The moon crunches the fingers of the sun

The earth and sun fall into shadows

The voided mistal picks up again

Picking up the trash of the streets

Raising them at twilight

Surging the pieces of paper

Carrying their words, their susurrations

The ink flows on the curves of the trees miles below

Creation of rough palms

Etched ditches far beneith the sandpaper wrists

Watching the theories of knowledge

Waiting to be carried away with the star at crepuscule

I say you got along way to travel

Wedged between philosophy and identity

                ----Nate