By Morgan Marzulla


Born in a coughing storm of fire, smoke, and wind,

i see the sunset in layers


The layers delve deep,

deep as my heart hacked forth from the lung of a god.

In a cloud of smoke the air is

clear and my eyes are two glass clocks,

dragging me out of shipwreck,

through the watery current of momentum and out of the swift sea of memory.

There, on the shore beyond all thought and notion,

i catch my breath,

staggering in a rich wind that blows white and clean from a lush land beyond a pale pain.



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