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The moon's sight through liquid air

The moon's sight through liquid air

Pierces the point in the vast web

Of totality, letting me fall through

Into clear vacuum of cold rare

Being where all is known

Too strongly, and nothing touched.

The sky's vision burns its light

From its essence through to perception's full

Expanse, and to burst beyond

Is to enter all via every sight.

Lone silence on the ripping out

From the fabric‘s: whole, loosens beauty

To fly free and slap the soul

Directly, in re-submerging force

That grinds me hack to the normal flow.






If you ruled ten thousand cities

You could not extricate yourself

From your self-entangled distance

From the flesh of human feeling.

Ten thousand boats, or trains, or rockets

Could not take you from your rut

In which sentiments are channelled

Into skeletons of life.

The warmth of blood and body

Which fills space between the bones

Would be missed and left to rot

Though ten thousand cures were used.


Tim Cloudsley nació Cambridge, Inglaterra. Es sociologo, escritor y poeta. Trabajó como profesor en la Escuela de Idiomas, de la Universidad Industrial de Santander, Bucaramanga en el ámbito de estudios culturales y literatura.

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