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written by: Heath Brougher


Even the sun seemed to tear me up
as I did unto those what had been done unto me—
laughingly, though basking fruitlessly—
there was no purpose
to be found—
hands dipped deeply into water
coming up dry,
empty with sores and cracking skin—
the crowds big and unwonderful
as prayers dripped forth only to melt—
where am I?—nowhere near anything real
yet still so among and populated—
the sun sears and rips
as no risk is taken—
there will be no flight today
no matter how brightly the sun is shining—
for it is too close to Earth
and reaps welts upon the fragile skin—
ducking, hiding in the meager shade,
pale as Icarus in a puddle
of melted feather-white wax.

Heath Brougher

Heath Brougher

Heath Brougher is the winner of the 2018 Best Poet of the Year Award from Taj Mahal Review. He is the poetry editor for Into the Void Magazine, winner of the 2017 and 2018 Saboteur Awards for Best Magazine. His work has been published in over 550 journals and the newest of his 7 books is "The Ethnosphere's Duality" (Cyberwit, 2018).
Heath Brougher

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