Thursday, March 27, 2008


LONGWIND


The power plant thrums through the night winds.

Nested birds sleep, their heartbeats tiny engines

tuned to the monotonous, cabled swoon.
Dark father god, hands on the bellows.
In sleep, we all assume the same form, the same curtain of breath passes
from bedroom to nest to burrow,

the same song, cubed and regulated,
compacted and long.

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Monsters