I have only the slightest preferences left,/ as the powerful dominate the course of my days./Others ,tend to fade./Fading fast, are voices heard first on snowbound islands, graced by a coat possessed by ghosts,/ gutted with knives stained with soup. /I’m a mere pawn in the game/ on an island, these essential domains./ I stifle you, with no benefit /from your eyes or the arched curve of your smile./But with your eyes and ears, , your desire to seize the voice/ of a poem still remains. /Because you’re among seekers, cripples littered in the snow./ And when you recite this verse, /you come to a fever pitch , woo with hollers./The ears find dim, distant echo,/far ahead of verses. /They shiver in the air, bend, shift weight in numbers. /I want to see you/ the way you see me,/ as a salvo in a battle,/ not a cry or a wish, but a series of crushing blows, /one right after the other./But I’m not there now, I am marooned.

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