Monday, September 16, 2013


When I touch life's substance,
when I bury my instruments in the earth
and let them ring stone,
I pay attention with pain
to the small, irritating numerals that float past
and the interruptions, all of them--
do not reject, do not compromise
the vast cloud of corruption--
and I watch with fondness
a woman in twisting hair descend the vines
and begin her assault there.

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