Eternal Recurrence

Life is mute – its tongue
cut out by the hands of All.

Mind chatters incessantly – bound
as tight as the curse of Time.

Her fingers caress three skulls –
cigarette burns surround her
palms… I feel the same on
my lips, tongue: Death seeps,

drips into the deep water
rising above six feet:
jackets are required, suits
so we don’t appear naked.

I crawled back into
the tomb out of which
I first issued: green
and new, alive in my…

mind chatters incessantly – wound
as tight as the clock of Time.

Life is mute – its lungs
breathing breath for All.

By Michael Anthony Adams, Jr.
From his poetry collection, Recipe for a Future Theogony.