Aiming for a creative life

I Am Santo

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Cup morning in fingers stretched to break skin. File days inside right angles, checked off, finite and clear in their expiry. Awaken with the ghosts of other lives clinging to the mind’s eye and shake them clear as dust from prominent shelves, brandished keepsakes maintained for the kind fetch of frivolous collectors, sycophants bathing in the blood of lunar musings. Oh how they wish to know the folds of each thought, overlapping with electric distress and crossing synaptic chasms with radiant pain imprinted on the retinas of those prying to look closer, reaching, craning, searching for calm in cataclysm. Shhhh, they’ll softly fall as flakes of cotton December snow, coating the branches of chaotic unreason with the insulating pour of their musings. Thick in the white, the black burns and escapes as night into the kill of evening, when days surrender to madness and the whirl of a cosmos dying, birthing, igniting, freezing conducts symphonies in silent madness. #poem #poetry #hand #silhouette #literary_imagery #backlight #blinds #morning #shadow #dark #writer #writing (at Cold Morning)

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