10.2.10

I Was This


I was this, I was that white
unwinding
reminding me of my aspirations, every destination
beyond the field of cows. Of crows.
The sun is the same and the gradation of green
from colors extinct (beyond viridian) to the absinthe
of the waving bank fed by the Lethe.
I lie down spotless, wing and wing and a body only beating to support wings.
I am before words,
before words were committed to the page,
before the page was married to thought,
before thought was narrowed to a line, a long, dead
line.



I Was This [#54]
© 2010 Fammerée


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Richard Fammerée
fammeree.com
fammeree@att.net
director@universeofpoetry.org


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Photograph by Spinella

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