Tuesday, August 5, 2014

The smoke has shed
layers of my mouth,
but it blooms

Clicks at the screen
is such ease, but
simulation. Can we live
strings? Foolhardy

Promethean, to presume
your clay is set:

orange blossom
at clarity, but it is the scent
that droves
of nerves strain
to spray, and then recoil

between the rocks. Effort,
this, but seasonal,
and the moss on the rock-
seat, the spark

and the pungent
release ensures
decay of yet
more layers.

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