The Places Of Arrival
WORDS come like rain
upon the road the wetness runs
upon the head the rivers come
always running
nothing remains always going somewhere
nothing is left
as always the silence of the numbness
the self that is king
without land without a castle
the nudity of man
the insufficiency of his mind
the bareness of the soul
barren as sand
the dust of the bones
the air of the flesh
the catacombs of our existence
somehow our footsteps insist
about a direction
of a place
it is not there like fate that we
imagine
like aims
like visions that fade like mirage
when we arrive
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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