Tuesday, February 15, 2011

271 - 275

bright skin reflected

off the edge of a dark knife

half a blood orange

we ride parallel

synced up like windshield wipers

rain dots our faces

I'm going to the park

to paint parrots on pages

white paper cages

two boys fake war

their tactics all plastic

park pigeons limp by

a necklace placed, shifts,

retrace the steps of caress

grass torn and thrown

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