187

My feet were throbbing from the energy

of the night and day collapsed into full
time, spherical and tenacious; dirgy
wails crested through me like waves when they shoal:
No shallow urges, just profound urgings
before linear time falls down the plug;
The tides are dragging death in their surgings
out from its shadow where the shades just shrug:
Their acknowledgement appears so serene
until one sees that they lived passively,
never choosing to act like light or screen,
like blight or spine; My feet throb massively:
And then I stood and I made a phone call
to an open spirit with a closed Fall.
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