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Friday, April 7, 2017

Dark Phoenix



Phantoms

every time I reach toward you I think of reaching further

into fear so vast it curdles

numberless numbers

2+2=

eaten stars

My two year old son Gus activates the camera on my phone and fast-shutters fifty or a hundred photographs with his fingers grazing then covering the lens, returning each a peach or purple or red field, graded minutely, rough grained and not quite orange. My disk fills to bursting with these image accidents of colors indistinguishable from the interior of my pockets

and I can't bear to shred these records...of the ache bliss hollows out...in spasms of events...reclassified as miracles...

Prevengeance...?

Nomolomogo...?

I pour my prophecies

into my children, not my poems

who will be the librarian of every hour

as some days someday

will pass again

just as they pass now 

as living doors

the next poem will erase the last poem

I love my two sons equally and my love is equal to yours

I love you equally

Who you have given all your love to

Phantoms

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