The Concrete Bodies

All
Through it all
Through veins and our bones

All
Through them all
Time plays its swathe notes

Time shall loose its hold
When the chill of white oblivion
Slowly claims us
I feel the grip tighten

We are the weight
On our own
Fading souls

We are the snails
Creeping on
Razors of bone

Weightless, amiss and flawed
We sprout, we turn, we mourn