I tell you death, except no smile of pride

Let the world read and frown
As the letters etch the troubled mud
Steering clear of the 9th -
Opacity is yours. Mine lofty.
Or the gentle predictable ripples
Alternating between crests and troughs
Scoped in the nightly binocular.
Locked in the shore of the collapsed few
Deterrent to constancy , slamming doors
Over empty dead evening rooms.
Words shine each new day
In cleverly twisted wrappers
And your approval, till the new inches
Towards another cliche.
Perhaps the greatest puzzle of a formless universe
Lies in its becoming, and reading
More from the foetus , than the terminal .
My burdenless hands deem crossroads
Comely gravity that alights
And sits inches away, in unbroken form.
Further drifts the distance
Because its the end we always desired.