Poem: What is not Seen


Open it,

open it wide,

wider and wider,

not wide enough,

even more as the wrinkly body inside flourishes.

The layers,

the ones neglected

pulsating out and in,

in and out,

further out and less in,

the expansion gaining momentum with every contraction.

Close it,

close it now,

a little tighter,

even more,

a final way to make it grow as tight as possible.

The outcome,

deadened details,

different colors and shapes,

of red and ovals,

becoming what is not seen, 

where the sinews fall away every passing year.




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