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As Icarus
with pasted feathers
soars to meet imagined destiny
we here apply,
first words, then fonts,
envisioning some flight to greatness,
dreaming of the accolades to come
then finding,
with those lifted, falsetto, wings
the glue that held it all together
drips between the lines
to pull us from the sun
and back into the sea of applicants;


the ascent so slow,
the fall so steep
accelerating
into
dark.