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The Winters of the Sun
The same word starts everything: “The…”
Not "I...", as in I write the (something) then
erase it. It's just there to start the writing.
Particulars start the writing.
Like a title that keys no theme
Except an atmosphere, I slip into my clothes.
A doorknob, a checklist, a podcast
On an unsolved murder. I'm a mood
In motion seeking a moment
Caught thrashing against ignorance.
I version the modern art of the Masters
Until my frank persona appears, fearless,
All kidding aside, a chill lassitude
And insouciant defeatism, exhausted.
The Hulk of everyday life ponders,
Fist to chin, elbow swaying with a shopping bag.
Let’s chuck away the beginning and settle in.
It’s a story told by my own face, which
Never looks away or smiles,
Where the title becomes both of us,
The ones with no expectation from the start.
Here's where the recording starts.