I am Dust

When I ask for dust;
I ask for a plague
of time
where my mind slips
from every coursing
so I can fade away,
so I can disintegrate
and recycle any
feeling of peace
or pleasure
or despair
and forever sit
on your windowsill.

Let me be dust.
Let me be useless.
Let me be aggravating
and clean me away
from your memory
because I want you
clear from mine.

When I ask for dust;
I ask for meaninglessness.

When I ask for dust;
I ask for death.

[I wrote this poem because I asked for dust. Rather, I asked my two great friends to write me a poem and use dust as an inspiration. I didn’t specify any further, this is what they came up with…]

From Poems and Roses:
She Lives in a Dust Storm

Bone-dry, carried by drafts.
She is rolling clouds.

She is

consuming landscapes, and
all the people. Her form,
magnetic. The distant
terror of intimate eyes.
Everywhere is coming,
is almost,

but her wind stops
twisting dangerous gusts.
And she lies shapeless.
A collapse.

Grounded by pieces
of what was her body.

From And I’ll Go:
4 am

For Robyn .
let’s lay our bones to rest,
my friend.

This dust has been collecting
Us for days now
Our days are years.

No beginning
Or ending

It is always four AM
Where we are
It’s always four AM

Lay your bones to rest
My friend

You’re gonna
Dance yourself
To death


About Robyn

"If you haven't known insanity, you haven't lived."
This entry was posted in Life, Love, Life and Other Trivial Pursuits and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to I am Dust

  1. tt4r says:

    Oh, let it flow, you open so, so much person in your poetry, Portals to your reality, I will follow, from within my whole, in my reality, open.

    Liked by 1 person

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