imprints from Rosewater
in the course of suspension
over
in the act of lowering
down
in the ritual that is burying
under
time becomes the staggered images
of someone else’s life, bleeding
frames over your bitter green.
everywhere you uncover
a double exposure;
the thought that you
could
have been them
could
have been caught
in a faultless Vonnegut jump
and broken over a Dali sunrise
to find Picasso reading the soft, wet
tea leaves in your evolving cup.
your fingers are pushing into
the clay of tomorrow’s dawn
remember me
call my name
one more time
define me
refine me
inter me
until the
tock ing
tick ing
hits the bedrock
of unforgiv ing craft.
of unforgiv ing craft.
2 comments:
over, and out.
i search for a grain of compassion here...
Who knows what unspoken value it is
That makes words and those that Patch em
Important Spara... But you've got it...
It's a casual comment
There is .... So much more
But thats certainly good
For starters
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