Wednesday, September 30, 2009
THIS DARK IMPRINT…
doesn’t even leave the eyelid
before it’s categorized,
half a shuttered frame, at best,
out of focus, inconclusive,
you can barely call it evidence,
but still, a shadow has to live
with itself, and every grain
leaves bread crumbs behind
for every bird who ever pecked
at the order of the house next door…
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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? ...
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CIVILIZATION AND ITS’ DISCONNECTS Turn off your computer. I know, I know. I will cease to exist. I will return to my cave of shadows, ha...
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