for days now

 

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for days now
i awake in
emptiness —
not unlike
fear, a kind of
vacancy

as if
flying
above an ocean
with no map or
navigation, only
fuel enough for
the remainder of
life and

the silent sclaffing
sound of the
propellor

the sea, a flat
horizontal of mottled
filigree, blue in green
spread between

air and floor

why remain in flight?
what is this in me that wants
to wait and see?

 

chris woodhull

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