January 14, 2009
By arthur pichou, Salem, OR

When reading, words flash; individual lighthouses dividing light and dark

For all to see

Poe and Tolkien, fiction alight; they make the air buzz and glaciers in flight

For all to see

Salmonella and the Black Death, cries of anguish and itches in the gut that

We can’t scratch

Thinking of distractions to pour over at night; learning long codes of honor that

We can’t comprehend

But when the night is lit, in thousands of gossamer strands flitting through the conscience, we see the words; and we realize that the line is thin
But when the night is dark, the line is gone, and we do what we want

It wasn’t too bad to light up the night, but I just didn’t want to see a line,
No matter how fragile and translucent; fortunately, the ground was opaque, or I would have fallen through
Which doesn’t sound that bad; now it rolls of the tongue.

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