Saturday, January 23, 2010

A Wave

Nylon thoughts firmly prosper
no words fettle for answers
over the sea in some waded shadow
everything jagged, shadowed, leaded
one remarks like a timid first lover
confused, a memory at its corners
like many colored snow falls
your tongue between the gulf
of reflection and suffering
the quality of a country
called the land of petals
not the vain weather
nor that the compost queen
called to the beautiful preordained
impassible ruffian
"Thou hast managed
a wave."

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Ah, Sincerely

  At last it is self evident  There is nothing to put down But the clouds moving overhead  The dead stare into the black Spoiled and unmoved...