Poems

rushingdownwind

we no longer wear swords(elegant fingers that send imaginable pain)but the spaces between us
still resound with
the chilling clattering of steel.

what birth begot this gestalt of noisesmilesleisurepain,
what chain(forged from the melted gold of antecedent dreams)snakes from the inky dark
of faint time to bind us to this argent course?

we no longer wear swords
since we imagine ourselves free(given the range of possibilities before us)in our impossible pride.
But, ask Icarus(that ever child of all)how sweet
the rushingdownwind.

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