| The Fifteen Project | |||||
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| The Distilled Sun | |||||
| by Carand Burnet | |||||
| I lost all of my stock that day
the subway tunnel cleared its throat exposing the highway's squalling reverse For the phoenix chimed heaven's vault and out came this call refracting those many years after our death where we still unravel, and _so smote the city for today it shines like pools of scallops, mollusks wedged among vacant dust, scrawls of time men like raptors that knick up the night, all insect eyes, perched in welkin briers and choked quarries In blackouts the swifts wail to the pushed-in corners, for wind currents are the transparent veins of the world apostlebirds silked in air, marlins seared from the bedouin sun, birds are the discarded angels torching in exhaust over the furled _cities And with one glaring flush they read me with the weight of braille- Only to show that their cries refuse the world. |
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