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  • Writer's pictureThe Debutante

Sulpher and Dust: Two Poems.

Co-editor Molly's fragments of poetry drawn from a working collection titled, ‘The Art of Entropy’.



It happened.

 I met you on a page of your diary

that deluded my head.

Or, I met you on a train-line,

swimming into Devon sulphur.

I think I noticed you,

Unblinking, waiting for life to happen,

or waiting for it to stop,

because its light blinded you

and I think you blinded me.

Somewhere it happened.

Meeting you happened.

Just as it happened and is happening on this page.

But I cannot type what happened for you.

Were you blinded?

I think I was waiting

But I don’t think we ever did meet.


Dust particles have formed an aether in my bedroom.

They swerve and propel themselves upwards, a glow of

Scattered pieces,

they multiple, they fragment, fracture and converse.

Time has lapsed, an infinity of time for those particles.

But I have not moved.

I have merely watched the world form itself over and over and tear itself apart.

How alike I am to the dust, to the cosmos. I too have reached towards a splendid

power and light, only to find myself

no longer whole but an strange entanglement of forms.

And in all of this- my bedroom window has been flung open.

And the breeze disrupts the dust. I am


My bedroom is a bedroom once more. The illusion is broken, and there you lie next to me.

Unblinking and constant.

You were probably dreaming.

Maybe the cosmos was your dream

and both our words shattered as that window opened.


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