[sonnet]: Light Degree Zero | Ali Znaidi

Reddish lice: Simulacra of fireflies: Seeds under the wings of a crow. 
This is a dark night, a space when all those emotions were made 
fragile by a faint moon, and the caws obfuscated the lyricism of 
the nightingale, but still the shimmer of fireflies underneath the wings
left me haloed in the luminous sheen. The fragile feathers fluttered 
in successions like spring pollen or cigarette puffs from vulgar prostitutes. 
Swallowed up into the belly of the crow; myths; or those gyrations inside history 
were not digested, hence spewed. {Myths don’t grow in the dark because 
they contain seeds of rebellion}. Fireflies tried to contaminate all the parts 
of the crow’s wings, trying to create a luminescent crow, but in vain. We all 
know that perfect mundane light is imagined but can never exist. Therefore, 
we have a general distaste for the crow; that poor bird, hence bias surges. 
But, this is not a bias: Light is a revolutionary trope and history never began 
without introducing a sprinkling {or varieties} of “lighght,” to quote Aram Saroyan.
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