it's not a question of what i have to say
just that it gets said
in some form or another
god, it doesn't matter,
doesn't matter what the name was
or where the discoloration lay--
within what silent vise
the heart beat
the rolling blood
through the vein
whether the window smashed
or just
disintegrated
into a
jagged fulfillment
of some inner form
and the color of the rhodedendron
pressed
against the glass
green leaves, brown,
both were so vivid
whether icarus fell
or dived through the rushing light-filled sky
he hit
speculation means
so little
in the aftermath
of that impact
that is why i left.
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