Crucible and Prism


Darkness and light burn
and then blend

into me.

I steer a course toward the edge of the
world
between the husks
of dead gods.

Tied to the mast, I writhe
under the lash of promises
and paradises
then push the horizon
beyond

and

 

fall
through the edge

 

 

 


balloons, bridges and non-euclidean geometry is the next poem in Migration Patterns.
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