Tired Light
Tom Snarsky
Thirty West Publishing 2026
Time keeps the past it can return. Tom Snarsky’s Tired Light reaches every star braining its observed death for the godless gut of those kept awake under the immediacy of their artificial torpor in the animal equation that’s projected to solve for ruin. Coin, corpse, countdown. If I tell you one thing each day, in the voice of this verse, we may both hear, in the void, hell asking for custody of the abyss. Snarsky’s inquiries are angelically clear. Mirage sees its own illusion. A sore throat chokes on a mouth in a glass swollen mirror. Language is terrifying. I’m not sure how to get through it. Oh, wait. Now has a history of being wrong about the present. Dark, exhausted, read that again.
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