Sunday, April 12, 2009

Easter poem

we could neither share
nor tuning

ukulele drift

when perfect house
, parents

children

what I can’t bear, parade
my raining tide

a few white lines

lumbered, across
a bearing
coloured blue,
it staggers down

exactly like the scene
shot deep

we step, record
& thus

relief,
a sugar cause

back focus into

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