Hard is the knock-knock

of a world bent and lent

against its self, gone awry-

 

The thinking strands

that cannot find their

ends to meet themself,

this self has ever yet

to mean it; prove it-

 

Yet all this squandered time,

these uncounted hours have

a time to thrill

a time to its own purpose-

 

I will post this warning:

(to a self)

I fear death

not as I fear anonymity 

but its real fear-

Absence.

 

Words and foto: Tommy Carroll