Thursday, March 28, 2013


Imaginary grandfather took his special flask
down from a high shelf, his hands
were the blades of an old saw.
He opened a valentine wormhole
by looking at the wall
between himself and not quite immortal her.

I've been gazing since, no matter how many
ships and goggles I gather for speed and blur
to paint highways over forest,
in deep corruption to be accepted.
Imaginary grandfather took down
a paintcan lid speckled with whole stars.

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