Monday, July 11, 2011


Sometimes the wind feels like plastic thread
spider webs piercing my cheek
tightrope that saws through my soles
winter's laughing traitor like sap
into a blue glowing summer.
I am a creature of spaces, gaps
A billion tiny holes through which light shines
and water leaks like tea
strained through a skull's net of teeth:
and summer, joy of light and insects whining
is dry sand is empty salt
shook from my skinny fingers
of space and gauze
running like time down my bloody arms
and spilt wastefully
on an unmade bed.

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