Face of the skies
preside
over our
wonder.
Fluorescent
truant of
heaven
draw us
under.
Silver,
circular corpse
your
decease
infects
us with unendurable ease,
touching
nerve-terminals
to
thermal icicles
Coercive
as coma, frail as bloom
innuendoes
of your inverse dawn
suffuse
the self;
our every
corpuscle become an elf.
Mina Loy
(Picture:
Arctic Ocean, Konstantin Korovin)
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