Trying To Stand Still

There will be no value to the product
Because art is not a product
And therefore valueless
And as there is no value in this
It really doesn’t matter what I say
As long as it flows
From some profundity
And in this moment
What is the truth of me
I’m on beer four
I’ve smoked more of Jane’s ire
Than I can track
And my center craves
Gnaws for something beyond
These walls, stairwells
Familiar splits in stone to trip over
And the same broken filaments
Blurring days between their fixing
Moonlight on craggy marble and alabaster
Older than my grandfathers
As watered down
And earth bound
As the streaks of light
Dumped into parkas
Tugging free
Tufts of wool
From my third-hand coat
While I try to capture a scrap of nowness
To preserve and study
Because moments only stick to a mind
For so long
Before slippage reduces them
Into impressionistic pastels
And washes of pin-lights
Struggling to hold out against
The encroaching darkness


About Moly

Average, boring, self-involved human. Twitter: @CultOfCocktails Facebook:
This entry was posted in Poetry, Written, Written Work and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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