Thursday, March 21, 2013


Cradling an uncertain house--paneling of cooked spaghetti, windows of yarn and splayed finger roof, rotting. I make do at the junk yard--ace bandage, broken clock, overzealous cello. Repeat as necessary.

Stayed up late to draw you a winter. Yawning as dendrites piled near the boot of my fist.

How did you escape? On hair so long the clovers and cilantro took to climbing and circled her ears like a drain.

Strings dragged through the dirt, a drum kit of cymbals, metronome seizures

blood of hood pulled tight.

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