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Friday, April 20, 2018

Nightbooks

What time is it, feeling man
Didn’t you used to live in history? ideas
replaced with glitter impossible to vacuum

so in your peripheral vision stardust
persists like a tear
in the shop in the afternoon

but songs
pose different questions than poems
asking for simpler assignments

quantum field portraiture thought
walking backwards counting steps
down lines too plain to read without

“shameful happiness”
(my foremost subject
I said at the party

responding to the “poetry” question)
or at least empowered by
“exuberance superfluous to facts”

my evolved eyes saw and my old heart
and lungs felt
red breathed clear skinned

while in my ear music never stopped
made not from emotion
but something else

an instrument that sounds when played
like you already know how to play
have played it all your life

that single terrifying song
until finally it sounds
no longer in your mind

like a cavity still without ingress
population depopulated
former site of a binary star

two cat eyes
whose two minutes ago face
your shining eyes

falling on
in the morning
make glow

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