untitled

by josephzizys

empty is the river
it is a river of air
flowing
a cold wind run low along the ground
day and night

the pulse
pounds in the ear
what is in the heart
rushes up
reaches out
but in touching
bursts

like the bubble
touched by the terrible, invincible child
the anti-midas

empty are all our dreams
of fame
of understanding
nights of cold indifference
stars dim
drowning in the wash
of terrestrial lights

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