Insignificantly off the coast there was a splash quite unnoticed this was Icarus drowning- William Carlos Williams***__________ i. the Last of IcarusThis is how it feels to fly, hovering silently in air, in stillness, in your own heartbeat, silhouetted against the sun like some glorious Roman God.
And perhaps you wonÃÂt fallÃÂ perhaps youÃÂll stay there forever, trapped in one golden instant, trapped in a fraction of a second that wonÃÂt give wayÃÂ sunlit, golden, triumphant for this one momentÃÂ And then comes the familiar falling sensation, the slow, deliberate plummeting downwards, an awkward sort of graceÃÂ soundless screams and thundering heartbeat to match the crashing waves belowÃÂ hurtling in a dive of wing and wax and feather and fearÃÂ But you can never really shake away the feeling that you have caused your own deathÃÂ memories, memories, of nights spent plotting your own suicide, searching for the right feel of thingsÃÂ the balance, in order to flyÃÂ the end is close now, as the sky ÃÂ the sun ÃÂ and the roaring waves close in on you, close in on themselves, as you spin with a helpless grace into their embraceÃÂ as they loom closerÃÂ memoriesÃÂ and closerÃÂ you plotted your own deathÃÂ and closerÃÂ __________ ii.
InkTime seems so impatient these days, moving along quickly, grey, blurred, double-stepping, go ÃÂ go ÃÂ go! Even the desert sands seem to sense this new, foreign way of thingsÃÂ how they beat mercilessly around your legs, scorching your heelsÃÂ but you stand there, and you let the sand ruin youÃÂ YouÃÂre waiting for something, but youÃÂre not sure what. YouÃÂve been waiting so long, the sun, the sky, the sand, the heatÃÂ all has become blurred to youÃÂ you can no longer tell what are hours, or minutes, or speeding seconds. You can...