Tuesday, April 07, 2009

Breath

The music of song has eroded with the years;
the music of the spheres deafening now.
Language of the world showing itself from beneath
the film of artifice, spread
lightly,
blanketing
the sound life makes
as her perspective scrapes leaves
cleans away days,
plays at renewal,
coughs up past reliances,
whets teeth with words—
sheer wish, steep face drop—
ends puddling intransitive verbs
in the corners of well-trained thoughts.

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