Abysmal dark

deep in dirt their hands
reach down in abysmal dark
the absent color of pitch
that stirs and bellows forth
from the ancients of ancients
who swam in squalor puddles
absorbing into the color of pitch
that stirs and bellows forth
from steel trunks into choking
lungs, depleted the elemental
that rose from whose hands
reach down in abysmal dark

whose hands have reached
the puddles that remain from
remains settled in silted time
the grime the color of pitch
that stirs and bellows forth
into young arisen of the dirt
where hands still reach into
abysmal dark and cavernous days
the ravenous haze lingers
yet and swirls into the lungs
that turn into the color of pitch
that stirs and bellows forth
from chariots and trading
caravans and shooting comets
polluting, vomits, gasping
reaching into the abysmal dark

deep in the dirt they gnaw
calcium grinding calcium stones
whose bones pick teeth
and teeter as buried temples
where flesh and blood have
flown into the color of pitch
that stirs and bellows forth
for light, for words, for young
arising from the dirt where
hands dig deep into the dark
to forget, to remember, to
turn into the color of pitch
that stirs and bellows forth
and rises to fall upon the cold
the older than the old who
no longer remain as remains
within the abysmal dark