by Neil Ellman
Shapes turn into clouds
Then decompose
To shapeless ironies.
Breadthless lines appear
Then disappear
At countless, sudden points.
Something inevitable
Inexplicably occurs
Before it shifts to red.
*
He said he knew the source
Where squares are born
Where circles spread
And multiply as if
A stone were dropped
Into a lake of stars
Where life is formed
From dying flames.
*
The wind becomes a face
With ancient eyes
That cannot see the light.
Metaphors dissolve
Becoming stone
Before they turn to dust.
Nothing is what it seems
And every thought
Is just a guess.
*
He said he knew
How everything would end—
And then it did.
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