Wednesday, February 8, 2017

10 attacks on truth

With my eyes closed and right palm pressed to my brow and bridge of my nose
there is a double negative
to let the light in
from other days
those days though what are they, haven't they traveled as long as I 
aren't we companions, all these days
why should they float wraithlike above me
or haunt behind or beckon ahead
why are we not infinitely deep
together
I have never remembered any light
it must stop with me
I must be the end of all light
the horizon of events
I pass through
I have never been any 
but death
and dying
how should I distinguish
the death of moments
from the death of all

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