Sunday, January 12, 2014

NOT POEMS

Maybe just something
you hook to
accidental
a snare that opens up
the day
or nudges down
some depth
vague
and wordy
like the garbage
special kind
of garbage-woman
taking notes all day
never quite
pinning down
beauty, darkness
never  quite catching
darting comrade eyes
behind great shields
of shining hair

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