Best Archeological Poems

Turned stone
Dry bone  ...

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Old pot
Some rot  ...

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The golden chair of opulence
Seats a stately emperor,
Enrobed in royal purple hue
Of lichen moss that shrouds his bones from view.

And yet he holds you in his thrall,
Millennia since he has lived, 
You bow before his exhumed throne,
And kiss, in fealty, his toe of bone....

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my history
had nothing
to do with her
story before we

met and then
all by me at
least was
forgotten

i had done
and i did
a world's
difference

to her story
but we met
and i hope
and pray

this
will
now
become

herstory...

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