Poem of the week: Nocturne by Wanda Coleman (after guardian)
I move in a steady pace, measured beats,
Monitored by a steady tongue, for they say
tongue is a powerful and balancing fork;
I hum and run in smooth, unfaltering pace,
Governed by a smooth rhythm, its own pace,
But how long it lasts, is a question, how fast,
another, running a quest in search of death;
a departing point, “point of departure”
a stunning myth, direction towards
a dead end, irredeemable, towards
another border, new port, dark,
unpleasant and dismal, mind cant digest;
all this happening while running, running
beyond a mythical dark, or dark myth
mind is irreconcilable for this running ?
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