I Believe That Icarus Was

Question The Bravery. Say It's Not Courage. Call It A Passion.

How Astonishing It Is That Language Can Almost Mean, And Frightening That It Does Not Quite.

To Hear The Faint Sound Of Oars In The Silence As A Rowboat Comes Slowly Out And Then Goes Back Is Truly Worth All The Years Of Sorrow That Are To Come.

We Are Resident Inside With The Machinery, A Glimmering Spread Throughout The Apparatus. We Exist With A Wind Whispering Inside And Our Moon Flexing. Amid The Ducts, Inside The Basilica Of Bones. The Flesh Is A Neighborhood, But Not The Life.

Everyone Forgets Icarus Also Flew.