A thought emerges…

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A thought emerges.
A swift burst
Of lurid incandescence
Smells of wood wettened by
Furious rain
And hoarse cackling
Stirred amid errant coughs
Boiled to warring shadows.

Perhaps the price to be paid
For the luxury
Of daytime revelry
Rests in the quotidian
Menace of skies
Progressively blinded by
Ripped hosiery and
Half-smiles that rarely
Importune our forgiveness.

And the thought is no more,
Whisked away by everything
Directionless conscience
And now we stand proudly
Warriors of the blackened meadow
Giving way to an empty sea.
We are infinitely torn,
But thrice bound,

To remembrance of Day,
To Glory feigned and true,
To heavy breathing
Punctuated by infrequent
Gasps of abandoned laughter.

Art: “Sunset in Montmartre”
Vincent van Gogh

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