Hic sunt dracones

The airplanes outrun my blindspot.
Like the clangorous noise of
cutlery
that tips over the
Edge of the table,
their engines
follow me through the endless night
that is disgorged by the coastline,
while nebulous thinking
clogged my lacrymal duct:
A hazy ponderousness
that sticks to the skin
like sawdust to garments.
The moment I let these thoughts go, I’m free,
but I've never been this far from home
and I don't know if I can stand the silence.

Kerim Mallée

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