January 25

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The sky
just before dawn

is dark electric,
expectant.

In almost
every sense

the word
progression

means progress,
except here,

at the margins.
The sky is blue

as airless blood,
as secret blood,

as all the terrible
beauty

that I’d rather
not know.

 

 

10 Comments

  1. onecarriage's avatar

    “dark electric”; “as all the terrible beauty…” Mesmerizing, powerful poem. Simple in structure, complex and vast in the landscapes of thought it opens. Love it.

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