Friday, April 05, 2013


The rose in your mind is bound on synthetic snow
in steel fingers and cunning joints and electric wires
and punched cards--an electronic master

death-bringing stars within air spaces of the leaf
wrapped in a gossamer veil a crust of dark matter

then a spongy mass, which, from stone fireplaces
to split-rail fences and peeled molecules
your soul shall also wear a wet suit with a window for his eyes.

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