Wednesday, May 12, 2010
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 mouth
to get me through the front door, sign where
it was dotted, breeze out from whence I came,
I could be a new and wholly invented self-made
man, I could write my own ticket. Yeah, the best
laid plans.
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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...
2 comments:
YEAH! (to the poem AND the picture)
Olá...
Que jogo de cores. Belíssimo.
Donna Elma - Brasil
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