Seal Whose Earth?

Nothing’s Ever Promised Tomorrow

a sea without waves
carries virgin words deep in its well.
empty—hollow—blank
slates that will not bake
no morphine will make lies true.
You cannot fill a hole going home
or give the music notes a staff.
there is enough color to go round
enough death waiting—
also enough round holes
square pegs, lego bricks
puzzled skies in broken waters.
there’s no tomorrow
only for tomorrow
and today lives for today.

Ruddapoet