Foul Papers
At times, splinters of light
might penetrate the darkroom.
Sweeping like liquid; churning on
their solemn trajectory to
mingle alongside my gnashing
cells like silent hues of algae.
Sun-dried and parched beneath
the intrepid blaze of the sun,
becoming finely sated like alluvial
dust clinging together in bolsters.
Only to return under the deep
shroud of night, to lay inert with
drizzled shards and hubris, near
a dark and barren mound.
©️Orion Foote, 2022
Visions of Orion Poetry 