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these days are serpents


by Samuel Derrick Rosen


Memory cuts,
across a wide
blue conscience,
I wait,

for you to change
trajectory,
eliminate
the is,
the immaculate,
the known.

Your eyes,
clairvoyant,
spell a radiance,
a faith that bleeds
its own reproach.

I think heaven,
its militant mouth,
the devoured,
you enacting
this age of whispers

in winter's large
yet latent mind.
These days are serpents,
darkest brightest,
we let them breathe,
because they must.
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