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written worlds - for jim carroll
it was told you had died of a heart attack while writing at your desk. that seemed as good a deal as any. dying in the act. and so it was, that that was your last line of poetry, to slip out quietly in the middle of the dance. what a beautiful line to go out on. they compared you to rimbaud, and how could they not with the reflection of fire in your words. you walked the straight light and found the sacred waters that lie beyond the blood. the flow of your words seemed to come naturally. sprung from some deep well buried inside, always headed for impact. it was as if your basketball days had to happen for you to become what you did. shifting its brilliance into the words that were so fluid-like, they spoke the language of a soft focused dream. it was the poetry of life that gave you the best high of all because you kept going back, giving yourself completely to stake your claim in the written worlds that remind us so much of hell, yet sing so sweetly of a heaven-
4:20 AM
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