Jarrad Ackert - Poem / Rundelania



4.

No tongue; slate.
No nostrils; cork.
No stomach; marbles.
No head; spasm.

The body vanishes upon delirium:
flashes of electric surge
a train going straight on a curve

I have seen I have tasted I have heard
but the diary entries are missing.

Atlases evaporate in the sun
Desert sans horizon,
where the thirsty laugh like fools.


Rundelania 


Transtromer

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