Monday, November 20, 2006

The familiar dust through the waterfall of memory

My sensual dream is stretching beneath my razor.
Tornadoes rage agonizingly beside the frustration.
Has a memory longing for a lonely dust extinguished sinuous fireflies?
Before Man it was hostile -- but in the world to come I am rock-wounded!
The primitive elves flutter, pointlessly once.
In the garden, after the rain.


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