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The Impossible Machine
A CUBIC WOOD, a longer poem
                                               page 1
...
Suffice a cubic wood
a step beyond less real
the moment all itself
until tired of the ideal
...
It would be all
if all was what I felt
the itch of my heart though
yearns to take a step
...
even if its leaves close up in death
...
Suffice a cubic wood
a woman with her horse
once stood in it
as impartial as I
...
Whether these winds
are the only open light
in the insistent air
sight caught on phantasms
...
sallow miasmos
...
Suffice a cubic wood
the boughs a brittle gild
the barky grain
seeming carved by rain
...
The shallow moment stood
as though a puddle
insouciant of the passerby
an empty surface, forgotten glass
...
time had not remembered to erase



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by Eucaleh Terrapin