Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Adding

The shrill aces of cold
then the silence pressed
against my body
it's called winter
and all the parts
of me seem strange
now in the pink light
where my thumbs
are blue
with laughter.

In a minute
a face is torn
from my attachment
to form
lint of my beasts
birds of my desire
the lotion has amber
in it and still
I make a "living."

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home