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I have a broken need
to drag bruised and bloody feet
over molten glass and boiling pavement,
to dance in a cool patch of green meridian.

I have a broken need
to dash my head into the meadow
on the smooth rock of afternoon,
perchance to dream of other meadows.

I have a broken need
to bind my eyes against the night
gaze at clothed stars, grab the rod,
and drink the hammer of an anvil cloud.

I have a broken need
to call demons down
to surf a solar tide
and to be ground by the billions
waiting on terra firma’s shore.

I have a broken need
to cast out the angels
to bind them with ink,
self-imprisoning words
and finally bring
reprieve to men.

I have a broken need
to thrust my hands into the fires of reason,
so I may coldly ward off
the shades of fear, faith, and death.

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