As jagged as a cracked wave,
Hard as a years-old kernel, Empty, ragged, starving, Tossing its head, ravaging, Scattering lights and plants That land like separate planets, As this clock is a nameless happenstance This marvelous hand An aimless meteor, As though this world lacked all mercy At the center of each volcano, As though each plain Had no living underbelly. Until a puling whiteness Crawls across borders Defying truth and fragility.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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September 2019
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