Saturday, January 13, 2007


i ate a stone. the winter
began while the worms
were still in bloom. I
entered a hat and tried
to mock the feathers
that sprang up around
the eclipsing orb where
two beaks forged a filament;
wire waist where the fins
twinned themselves, mirror
over pond over machines
planted to waste hours.
a disk sunk in pink folds --
the hurting window
where roofs unwrite
and mending curtains bow.

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is this real?