Hegemony – A Poem

We were young.

We were young…
and the faces
all dead.

A matter of hegemony.

Here it is one AM
and I hate the shape of
your mouth.
But at the beginning,

at that pink beginning

there was between us
a marginal trust
as we
clung to cracks in the volcanic rock
at the edge of an organic
abyss.

I won’t pretend.
Not with the waves and the
mist and the laughter
carried
on the sage scented breeze.

It was too
delicate to pretend.

It was
all indebted to us.

A lightsphere covers over the red.
We left only white
ash
and oily, black mud.

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6 thoughts on “Hegemony – A Poem

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