Monday, March 17, 2008


Tiger said why are you
so pretty. I have seen you in pearls
and laces. At night
kissing each part of your nothing.

We break the window
before he can.
His snowball his weekend
turning to weekday.
He laps up the water from our gloves,
too full to lick the temples.
Leaves our house lightly
like a man who has forgotten.

It is not a straight line.
It never has been.

The flowers you made for the goat
are eaten by your roommates
who feel like fruit.

A walk in shallow water?

Further than the spirit trembles
they are eating snow on the moon.

In winter we lie
in the curious river
without matches.

Only the chain is broken,
not the pendant.

Who laughs so fluently?

The mate is a flute played in the wild.


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