Friday, November 16, 2012

poem c. 2/12: stitchings for a song

i am moving faster than i have to
tiger woods is crying
a mess i had wanted is
not a mistake
clothes crowd the floor in dark colors

limp like a body would disturb them
everything stays in the present tense

a tremble set to song and with no melody
hummed from boredom

imagine a bomb that disperses no cloud
or that rainwater has no taste

an orange shirt flexed at the lip of
a suitcase is now an exit

imagine another thing

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