< Issue 10 >
Constant Reflection
After reading Daniel Simko’s “Departures”
by Charlie Guzman
I enter you as an angel enters
a scythe. I find nothing.
The room has been replaced with
a desert of glass, some mirror
fragments, and a slash
of birds through leaves of lava
(in the distance).
A wheel of eyes revolve around
whatever is left of me;
a floating rag from an old shirt,
the still-born eye (melting),
the fat leaking from my chest.
I cannot pretend much, anymore.
To remain honest, I search
the distance for a blue sun.
Constant Reflection
After reading Daniel Simko’s “Departures”
by Charlie Guzman
I enter you as an angel enters
a scythe. I find nothing.
The room has been replaced with
a desert of glass, some mirror
fragments, and a slash
of birds through leaves of lava
(in the distance).
A wheel of eyes revolve around
whatever is left of me;
a floating rag from an old shirt,
the still-born eye (melting),
the fat leaking from my chest.
I cannot pretend much, anymore.
To remain honest, I search
the distance for a blue sun.
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