Serpent’s Tongue

consciousness seems an illusion.
skin: an imaginary boundary.

there is no difference,
no separation,
between the pen’s ink
& the blood of veins;
the pen itself
& the bones of hands.

i cannot part
the grain running through the wood
from the creases of palms.

life has no true tongue;
it is beyond man’s rhetoric.
every word
of every story:
a charming lie.

including all those i have written
& all those i will write.

Categories: Photography, Poetry, UncategorizedTags: , , , , , , ,

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