Saturday, March 11, 2006

front pocket

ripping seams in

a tired metaphor

i’ll sew a pocket with

fishing line, a needle

made of bone

lined with detritus

I will place for hardening

an image of my lover

handfuls of leaves


. . .

. sandals with sand

that familiar bend

in the serpentine

where my house

slid into black silt


At 7:13 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

That's a great story. Waiting for more. » » »


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