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Alexander Momirov

Only the Eye


We all look up and see
in the pale-tiled market
a human bristling with frost,
gelid behind the fogged glass.

Everywhere the eye rests
hallucinations call after it:
the sparrow jerkied in its plastic shroud,
the twice-dead fruits from somewhere else,
and pouring out of the bottomless microcosm,
a linear pornography of fact--

only the eye
holds the infinite.

But it strays.




​​
--
​Alexander Momirov

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  • Home
  • About
    • Our Story
    • Masthead
  • Submit
    • Submission Guidelines
    • Submit Here
    • Book Review Submissions
  • Features
  • Interviews
  • Book Reviews
  • Previous Issues
  • Blog
  • Contact