Monday, April 23, 2007


in memoriam

bones across the room
limbs slopping mugs of fracture
my tongue a red carpet and everywhere

I must remember the story
the one where I’m not in it
but instead riding my bike
where it is blue and not semi-automatic

but any moment could fracture
become vast and borderless with
the red shift of possibility receding
becoming this

a thousand eyes impaled in windows
the silver flash of human toasters burning
the fist of a door


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