Spinning dust

I’m spinning faster than before,

rattling,clunking, picking up the bits,

dismayed at how I’m nothing but dust.

Sometimes all I feel between the sky and my feet,

is myself dangling useless,

heavy on my arid bones –

spunky pink humbling into

a hollow yellow.

‘How sad’, I think,

but then I remember

that I’ve got nothing much to do after all.


Photo- bintphotobooks

Photo- bintphotobooks