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The Impossible Machine
A CUBIC WOOD, a longer poem
                                                page 5

Suffice a cubic wood
trees escaping like tendons
eclipsed in mist
the body a forgotten flower to the mind

Dwelling apart from that air
rarified from the real
dwelling around its total form
the world forgotten for a spell

certainty a trail of mist

Suffice a cubic wood
bold blunt columns
smudged with shadow
breath sifting leaves

The sky trailing ghosts
bulky closets of night
seemingly deformed by silver
shadow descending like unfelt silt

stars winding like lost ships

Suffice a cubic wood
withstanding like a bitter sap
a night's trespass
the trunks impossibly still

My limbs stiff
a forgotten man
reembarking bodily
awakened to the morning

Stepping, molting from the cubic stand
towards where the light meanders, in further
fields.




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by Eucaleh Terrapin