Thursday, March 30, 2006

Post Poem

Vorpal diarrhea a
wind in your hair
chasing selves the sky
mottled orange in
the dying of rainbows

and all you are
we are.

the word was so
there is - but
- not. Silence, and naked jeans

there is a canvas
of drying tears,
the frame mistaken
just misspeaking
silences.

i wish i knew you
i see     here
i hear
gloaming && split ends

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