No phantoms to
chose between tonight,
Nor other egos
Which yesterday’s
perspiring glass
Stained forever
silver, silenced, even though I move,
Grimace or
shriek, with or without the pious tablets
Pulsing me to
sleep, black, locomotive-like,
Parallel to one
night’s drawn blind death drowning,
Chest heavy,
sharp, high-clawed to dawn
Solemn waked with
sun, streaked, still soft
Amber anchored in
the noises of the street,
Part distant,
insistently today and not that last
Night’s
courageous loss of instinct
Which did not let
me die again.
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