Tuesday, December 14, 2010

211 - 220

slept on thoughts planted

like stacked mattresses on peas

sewn restless, soon reaped

spat lies from lips

subtle as missing teeth

a gap. stop.

under warm gray skies

my dad and I walk the beach

tiptoe over rocks

am i green to think

what is will not die like leaves

off trees in winter

born in the heartbeat

between soar up and plummet

waits flight's relative

soft dawned ophelia

to be drawn into words not

to be drowned by ink

silt sand burial

retrieval of an era

weathered to feathers

after you ate, left

i broke the plate washing it

i got cut, before.

little bear bumble

soft tumble thru bramble sticks

fall, sting bees, the hive

we dine by the tracks,

watch the weight of freight talk the

table into dance

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