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   i c a r u s    n i m b u s

--- R O N A L D   P A L M E R

All leftover sons are plastic and tragic: 
unradioed untelevised:  you:were:never:young: 
O Icarus:  be my wingless:  a static-scratched 
warning:  hot water pounds my head:  
while a pseudo-masculine voice shoots itself:  

I bow my head ape fashion toward the drain: history colander: sift the facts: collect like a clump of black hair:

wax wings melt even boil: but do they never entirely vanish?:

this calls for a reformation: O loud-selling Lord: I'm drenched with a desire to grow the market!: one thousand Icarustic toys: hand-flown through the sun: another promise bounces off the fogged mirror:

I'm washing my hair to horror commercials: void:where:prohibited:all:restrictions:apply: my clumsy cumbersome wings wait in puddles till eagerly I sunward fly.

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