THE ACTIVIST

A Poem by Stefanie Bennett

Do I abdicate? My year’s breath
Shortens, and
Sight’s less detailed.
But I can still make sense of short-wave
Variations – it’s just
The pronunciation that’s altered.

Once -, aspiration’s reverence could
Be drawn from
The immense tautology
Of the bookshelf. Here; the logos!
There; the halcyon
Cloud… and I

A wistful intermediary mouthing
Incantations
To the day-breaking moon.
Now, circuit-breakers can be found
Where molten
Brevity begins –

The reeded pool turned holograph,
Becomes a pale
Star-twinning theme:
“And age,” said Han-Shan, (off-side
Of life and time)
“Is comfortless.”

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