Anything that ever was
the building, the cabin, the slave quarters
groaning beneath development the burial ground
mourned its death
suffering the indignity of erasure
as silent ashes cast into the wind
Rising with the horizon
time is an anecdote
for green fields and barbed wire fences
where the clock rest with sparrows on lines
watching cars drive past
trying to make the themselves herd
Plugged in the power concentrates
like shockwaveform islands of concentric time
gravity waves surfing spacetime at light spreed
wearing concrete piers away with water of thousands of years
surging before tempests
forgotten like every dawn of history
Where nothing disappeared
each idea ever formed
still existed in the mind of God
every soul and thought of lifetimes
traveling through structures
of being and becoming passing on.
Garrison Gibson: books and blog 