Poems from Quarantine by DEVON HUNT, Volume I-II
Presented by Mars Projevt
Photographer DANIEL KOLOMIYETS @danielkolophoto
Makeup and Hair BETH LEVEL @bethlevelartistry
Model MERCEDES HURZELER @mercedes_hurzeler @musemanagement @imgmodels
Stylist EMILY PUCKETT @emyli21
Assistant DELANEY PERROSET @laneyperroset
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The aged glare of old suns
shines through our darkness
and gives us, briefly, pause.
To them we hazard number;
assignations fantastic as
their shapes, hammered into order
[yet] Time is peopled in measure.
Eternity has no [[other]] standard.
Only the heaven on hand.
[Hell around the corner]
—
Poem from Quarantine
by DEVON HUNT, Volume I + II
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Requiem to Anyone Unknown
Verily is the void
larger for your absence,
but for reason the rather
that it could hold such a spirit.
For the heavens on earth
couldn’t measure quite it,
and I’m certain for I
could never imagine its wealth[[/extent]].
Without which this/the world
was nothing else but yours,
and thus if passed not little
that has gone from it apart.
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This catalogue of man’s thought,
symbols pressed flat
in a thin ledger of wood pulp
and fibers, cued by small shapes.
Wonder how one ever learned
of another for their mind
and thoughts, that months
by thousands cannot separate.
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Glove DSQUARED2 @dsquared2
Bodysuit TOPSHOP @topshop
Shoes KITULANDY
This capsule of our soul
keeps the latter portable.
Mobile, if ephemeral.
![](https://basic-magazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/16-1-683x1024.jpeg)
Upwards chimneys wriggle
until the horizon’s [like] a jigsaw puzzle,
cutting crisp jagged silhouettes
into shade and shine and the final
piece to bind earth to heaven,
either never made or missing.
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I could tell the time by her smile.
Come dawn I’d see four, easy.
Dusk had three, slanted, shy.
Night a single gleam,
moon dripping off her teeth.
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