Wednesday, February 22, 2006

empty pulse.

pronouncing with the tongue
all turgid fibers, all blood haunts
the cavern resonating witless
conquest of regionless dearth.
scarcity strung over lines of
linen, snapping early in gales.
shuffling, we each held one
end, unraveling involuntarily,
rising kite flown by our two strings,
a wager on our lives in a field
of power lines and generating towers.


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