Monday, November 30, 2009

The Other Garden, untied circumstance.

At dawn,
I never let myself be taken in.

You,
A woman with feathers have come so often lately,
Under my mind, I'm tearing apart, the dark that I should.

I'm beginning to see those sounds,
that i never thought I would hear.
Over there a door knocking,
for example with someone you hate.

Beside me,
a light bulb is revolving, wall to wall,
reminder of the great sun, completely collapsed,
down to the sore toe of the white universe.

its chalky light, rings,
once again, different way,

like the sound of a watch,
on your cold white wrist,
which is reaching for a particular moment...

...to reoccur...which is here...now...me and you.

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