dust
dust is lust expired,
transplanted by a cold gust
from the fan of extinguished heat.
as sand turned to glass breaks,
so the glinting sharp shards cut.
soiled by rapacious fingertips,
tattered pages fuel eagerness
until the yellow blaze is blackened
and all that is lasting
turns to dust.
Ruby, Dorothea Lange, Sacramento 1937.
3 comments:
Damn, girl! Ten words, succeeded, I'd say.
Tight sound play, smart content. I like how not a single word feels "forced," as can often happen with prompts like this.
We'll do the next ten together!
p.s.
I desperately want the word "just" in the first line (as in "merely") like: "Dust is just lust..."
i never thought of that. huh. i like it, but of course, cannot take it from you, so it shall remain.
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