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Other Thoughts from the Darkling Plain


by Sam Rasnake


There is no shaking like the rain, no tottering

like water over walls of rock when the eye moves

past the edge as if somehow a part of the scene —

 

no sea, no vast, no roar, no human misery,

and no silence like 2 AM when your ears drone

zzzzhhh — an electric river you carry everywhere —

 

and nothing more let go than the song you can't quite

make yourself sing, oh love, so you hum, nodding

as you walk by an opened window —

 

the world inside shrinking, the world outside shrinking,

and the night too proud, too wasted to remember —

like star-shimmers against the cold will of the sky —

 

not exactly a piece of work anyone would commit to,

or even spend time with, but here, lovers love

as killers kill for the space of here to there.

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