Tuesday, April 27, 2004

talking roses to the
bottom of
emotion, at
the bottom
of time, in
closing statement
while the whirled, in a fashion
read from boxes, open door
policing, that the could of
happened yesterday
was silent in the dew, not
dew in moments
but a raise of
air, unlikely
as the rose
in tune, in
guttering and
cooling, as a
rhythm precludes
a stoppage
while foraging for food,
a doxology later
then a frame for
telling, on the ending
love and
beginning with a wheel,
circling such as this
the aliens own the world

Comments: Post a Comment

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?