Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Catastrophic Attitudes

Can’t get near it
Can’t touch it
As tense as
A lady drinker
Given notice

Now a quantity
Of love, the
Sadness of
Infinite things

Leaves fly like
Toy soldiers,
The world full
Of lead dust
From old bullets

Cities all become
Parchment palaces
Old writing says
Here! This place!
Rain falls on ink

The river is a
Static roar and
There is talk again
Of asking for
Its silence


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