Monday, May 25, 2009

Song of the wooden hearts

a margin you smoothed
with your hand

territorial drifts; we would recluse
all serious, fragment

in the rafters a voice

breaking down into thirds, a tree
branches mud & a nest

the second straw-cut

the city you realize
, a primacy, bare

successful, so cold
& explosive

question you
& you are

a horizon you smoothed

from boiled your blood

who have given up every
, reconciled a house

a small wooden breath
through a break

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