From a quiver of fire, thunderclaps, a furious rage, a cavern so deep, a bed ridden in jungles rot, blood sweat of an ocean, the endings of a noiseless birth, musical nothings, to weak to fear, the strength of rivers, a window pours open, the pines devour the edge of midnights howling, the humans sleep under metallic blankets, the dreams of seed, of forgetting the dead to mourn the return, of a day without, as they swam backwards, I am afraid, of the patients complacency, of the dawn without dusk, the empty phantoms of motionless streets, ink stained with dust, the scarred face of what remains, the locality of a presence not found.

-Josh Fleming

Inspired by: Pablo Neruda, words remixed and rearranged from selected poems

Image by: Michalina Wozniak



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