How many times around the sun
and still
I am
the one
still floating
for every bright
eye
there are unrealized
seasons in the
sun
withering dreams where death's henchmen
ride
and a rusting cart
drags behind
a million bones
on broadway.
they say iceberg's dangers lies
in what's beneath
like flames underfoot
like the knife unsheathed
glimmers,
glances
glaciers
rapture
raptors
vapor.
gone.
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