DISCREDIT

		Light's impressive image:
		it is pure, even holy,
		it is friendly and wholesome;
		it is the atmospheric effect
		of choice for all good
		and patriotic Americans—
		put blunt:  darkness is sin.

		It's just that when you saw
		sun glaring off the East River
		that hot and windy summer's day,
		it was like flash bulbs going off,
		igniting each other in chains
		just beneath the surface
		(a drowned person started it):
		more and more, faster and faster—
		you thought your brain would pop;

		it's just that your doctor friend
		told you:  a man brought on epilepsy.
		He drove by woods with low sun
		shining bright through slender trees.
		He stared at quick progression of 
		sun-shade, sun-shade, sun-shade;
		got sick . . . .

		- Mary Winters



Find out more about
Mary Winters' writing at
The Locus Databases

All rights to this poem belong to its author.


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