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Today
I remember the names of people
who breathed
and died
this very day.
They gasped their first lungful of oxygen
and exhaled their final offering
to the world
This very day.
Unwanted-unneeded-great minds of tomorrow
exiled today
banished from life
This very day.
Lost
I am at the bottom
of a bottomless black pool
looking up
I see the moon
a silver candle
high below me
up and up I swim
getting nowhere from where I was
getting nowhere to where I'm going
This long tunneling tube
has no top
and no bottom
and no beginning
and no end
and no sides
and no walls
it is a box
shaped like a circular square
that has a finite infinity
and a baracaded endlessness
where I am going
where I have been
They are all the same
staying here, however
gets me nowhere.
Piaka
the fresh drooling
Dragon's Blood
pricked from the pad
of a virgin finger
who had not yet
seen the eyes of
twenty days
or the passing
of twenty men
and who, in
her cold
quintuplet
suffered inconsequently
the Blood
dripped silently
into the silver cauldron
of a witch's stirring brew
which contained of
itself
bat's wing
and powdered eye
and ink of vanilla
and now Virgin Dragon's Blood
from the maid
of a finger
who donated such
precious potions
and who fainted
at sight of her own life
pouring from her
in such a small doseage
But the spindle wheel
spins
spinning straw in to
gold for the
young witch's potions-
lit by silver candles of
hogsfat and
beeswax and
human skin and
dyed by the light of
the moon in a silver
clearing
in the woods and
alone this young
witch-
not more than
four-hundred or so
with hair as
brown as earth
lit alive by sparks
of fiery spirit-
and eyes as
blue-green
as a translucent
sea wave
and she stirrs of
this brew in her
cauldron with a
large silver ladle
and serves it as
an appatizing soup
at dinner
to her family.
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