Sunday, April 3, 2011


the repetition of numbers is of great concern among the major religions

and i will never die

the horse of carting and the field of listing out demands for terminally ill patients in hospice care, who only want to swallow that last bit of food without interruption and with a swallow of stoli from a martini glass, up with a twist

and i will never close my right eye again in measurement of distances

the flowers drowned along the edge of the tidal basin with sunblock in their buds and paling which corroborates the similarities between work that has moved from the land into the stack of boxes labeled with light and glass--pale blue filling with white and then washed to grey

and i will never lift my hand with a shovel, i will not pare the bended branch, i will not leap from the road's edge into the paused traffic like a signpost felled by a strong wind

the satin touch of a young machine as it spins its gears and produces something you know you never can live without and how this item gets transmitted through time and space repeatedly to wind up on your television screen on sundays and in the morning hours of the lesser week

and i will never part with my folder of interminable diagrams for how to earn an education

there are photos i wish to recreate and ways of stalling in conversation, i hope this lever reaches you way out on the form--the harm--the flame of a cloak and dragon

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