Human Confetti


in the completeness

of the dark

where we can color

in between the lines of time

a blacker horizon for the eternity,

the uncertainty of the next breath

and thoughts that caress,

like gentle winds,

our mental leaves:

the premonition of the

coming abcission.

When memories will disjoint;

fragments of consciousness will burst

into confetti

dancing across the planet,


with detachment

from the larger mold,

and romancing the intricacies

of their tiny movements.

It will come:

We will breathe without lungs.

We will blink without eyelids.

Seas will dissolve

into particle sprays

and we, the humid embers

admist the catharsis.


into something more.

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