Tuesday, September 2, 2014

The iron is wrought
as the man before the bathroom
door clenches a fist he

wants   but it is closed he
releases and on the chess-
board tiles leaks

through the ink
          the blank

he hardly knows
what abyss
and anyways color
is nowhere and 
assumed here

when he came to
he stepped off,
arms iron, arms
light.

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