Tuesday, December 21, 2010

221 – 230

not yet manifest

i've been thinking of you in

wild flowers, sweet tea

we stare into space

city bus commuter cadets

needling through time

urban turbulence

to shuttle me home, so slow

most low flying jet

your absence is smoke

gray taffy pulled from fire from

embers still burning

the break in the floor

shows old paint the color of

old bones split, pale. dust.

in pursuit of more

or just the quarry itself

i'm deeply exposed

i have climbed this face

and for what then? give me lip

an edge to leap from

perfect trees, tall, call

i wanna run through your legs

a cat through a crowd

curled up cats napping

a quilt of soft grasses

hills warm to the touch

i am alone as

i chose to be, always. now,

a wolf in a pack.

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