©2006-Allen Sutterfield
I have not known such a cold moon. hung on a patch of cloud, full, white, unwrinkled: all the light of the sky seems drawn into it, and all that is in that light.
I have not known desperate men to ignore all signs natural and beautiful, even in a senseless slaughter: old sailors on wooden decks sighting the moon (such a moon!)--what was in their eyes?
I have not known beautiful women more terrible for their beauty than those condemn to plain things—a compensation, rather, the destruction by the beautiful.
I have not known books to end, nor dreams to end, merely because they were not attained, nor could be: rather, the being is the book and the dream. How can we cross unnecessary boundaries?
I have not known more days than nights deserving; nor minutes than hours: nor moons than suns: oh Christ! I have known the heart to fail forever.
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