07 Dec




















telling him to outdo Icarus, to carry all manner of heaviness: hubcaps, An Essay on the Fall. you’ll have to try, another says. If you’re afraid, it’s okay. Reinforce. It’s about brinksmanship: one man leaning over the edge and another. of the horizon. We all go mute that high up—some from the chill; by Benjamin Blackhurst. Anything not whole, waiting to be filled. Because on the whole that’s life: waiting. to be filled, for the right wind, for people to push you and lose their breath as you. knit caps, sweaters, stockings. All the usual things. Hearts too. Hopes. others, awe. The breath departs. Clean, a winged thing, towering. over the redwoods, the skyline, it soars. You’ll never outdo it; Benjamin Blackhurst grew up in California but lives (with a pitiable zero cats) in Utah, where he is a first-year PhD student at the University of Utah. copper ingots, the beloved. To lean into the updraft, the long oval. your wings with wax. Mend them. Mend anything you like, really: old.

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