Saturday, December 8, 2007
CONTAGION PRAYER
Let the others shut the door, turn off the lights.
Let the silence bicker and murder itself until morning,
so we can turn to face each other with the drowsy sense of new-borns.
Let the riveted acres of the dead stretch on.
Our tongues flash, like car hoods with nothing on them.
Each new day bursts open, contagious with the past...
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LONG PLAYING The just-past-full moon parsed and dissected by black tree branches and a screen window open to a taut Spring chill on t...
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THE DEAD ARE THIEVES, TOO They’ll pick your pocket clean, like that Ozark you left by the river. How many times do I have to talk to you? ...