Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
.143
the ambivalence
is measured out
is measured out
like jiggered
cocktails.
I rot
I rot
from the nearby sea
like brown
and red driftwood
where when the sand embraces
and the salt mist surrounds
Looking, a glance,
it's a
perfect day
Without thoughts of
recourse or counterpoint,
Without screed or creed
Without screed or creed
I stumbled cross
The parched pavement-
where once green things grew,
but now are paper maiche'd and
stuck together with clumps of re-melted wax
Looking, a glance,
I continue to hurt
where the top and bottom
get cut up and off and
sliced through
like a thoroughbred's ligaments
when they're
lame and useless.
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