I write to put the world right---
the landscapes of my dreams
fruits, tender-fleshed
rubied juices
the uneven rubble
of riverrocks under foot
wasps seeking flowers
buds
closed and crenellated like fists
the landscapes of philosophy
languages that disappear shouts that drown
murmurs
words like granite or like
butter on the counter
words that shape the mouth speaking.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
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