Saturday, April 11, 2015

MUSE

Each morning,
it repeats—
I create myself;

and, not being able 
to hold in
all the heat 
generated by such a contradiction,

fly away—as iridescent flecks,
brightly toward but 
never reaching 

that scratched and wounded
boundary of 
skycold sleep—contained

deep inside—the spheres 
beneath your 
very eye-
lids.

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