The Ecphorizer
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Night is the one side of the dragon that is real. I find, redoing dreams like poems, my snake unwinds amoebalike, my eye-eggs hatch albino landscapes. In such a world my whole life works. I feel as if I'm poised upon an alchemy of edges. I am preoccupied with dark; I feel the dark in just the way that one might love beloved enemies. Nighttime gives me room to rest my innards after daytime's stunning blow to senses. The night is culture - villages between each spill of light. Have you ever seen a tree? I've been there, the roots - anchor to the locomotive breathing of the them and those who sell their souls to fill my work. Like frogs, who have such continuity, theme, novels of hop, journals of jumping for for the slithering shapes. Dark is my skin, when want is a shadow and silence my scream. ![]() Writer Frederick A. Raborg, Jr. started out life as a kiddie radio performer in the 40s. His poetry publications number in the hundreds. Frederick died in 2001 at the age of 67. More Articles by Frederick A. Raborg, Jr. |
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