A

Cento

of

Myself

I went down to the river 

To the world of all souls. 
Where the coldest and most ruthless  
Prepare to get broken 
Only to learn of the tenderness in their howl-- 
 
A proper mess of things 
 
Here is the deepest secret nobody knows 
Of shards for the sharpest parts 
The smoke of my own breath 
That does not know why it flows singing.  
 
I am a victim of introspection 
 
Clouds drift across the silverware. 
Silent the woods are and gray 
Joy's voice so peacefully departed 
 
I wander all night in my vision 
Where you hear the cigarette burn 
Squelching and squelching through the beautiful red.  
To drain out blood and burn together. 
Already gone before the stars were gone. 
Into the commonest ash. 

WHAT

Introspection

WHERE

The River

WHEN

May 2017

‚Äč

Walt Whitman, Isra Ah-Thibeh,  Atticus, JmStorn, Daniel Saint, Cynthia go, Linda Hogan, Sylvia Plath, Langston Hughes, E.E. Cummings, Christina Rossetti, David Berman, Pablo Neruda, John Masefield, Lucy Maud Montgomery, Edgar Allen Poe, Gwendolyn Brooks

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