Phosphenes

Why is night your terrain? Your throat
of stars, each

                            a tiny scream of what
              you cannot


                            recall. Your throne


of starved light and the distance,
in darkness, it has


              no choice but


to travel. The line, when there is
                            a line, between dream


and memory: eyes looking up


from a slung-open
casket. A line,


                            •
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