A good swim in Lethe

Or: Why, the work’s done for me


A dead day: it grew and told of its happening.
Tall as timber or a working man’s children.
Happy me, happier on the brinks that grow manifold:
sneezer at dust that once talked of families.
When I mix, I’ll mix plenty: or die of it, that
a young man fears most, or least growing tall
as Icarus’ shadow he spoke down to soaring.

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~ by Jeremy on June 8, 2012.

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