Tuesday, November 11, 2008
OPEN THROATS
A throat thrown open to sing--
A circus trampling the dust
of day-old post holes in their rush
to clear the next horizon.
I’m sorry. You may have
forged oxygen into a commodity,
out of thin air made even thinner,
you may have hard-wired the choir
down to the spine, but these breaths
we take are no longer stolen;
they are our own.
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CALL ME ISHMAEL You know why? Because I said so. If I live long enough to make it to an airport without losing any oxygen, if I use my mo...
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