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    Monday, March 20, 2006


    miniatures (I)

    “you never had a sister that I didn’t like” stone cold fox twisted and tucked behind an ear lobe your continuous forearm is readable on rye bread punctured yet punched into a toaster a beach house stands stoic on stilts of course it waivers, peeking out of clouds take a chance and flip flop in thongs with icing laced ankle straps slapping against pavement the fine grained remnants of city streets a creation of knitted fibers interlocked

    I am telling you today because tomorrow is
    over already and wasted

    ps. this is how you convey fanciful yet futile


    Anonymous Anonymous said...

    that poem is hooverphonic

    1:31 AM  

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