THE CUTTING EDGE






The Paper, now separated from itself,
the visions behind the halves
move far away,
the words for thoughts vanish
like the thoughts themselves,
and unsupported, the thin textures
fall into the ink of being,
and crumbled,
become a black, fibrous mass
of what may have been.

The edge has severed two likenesses
from one,
and nothing remains of either
but this clumping memory.

  



                         


    Dust to Dusk by Sampson-Carroll

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