Thursday, November 21, 2013


The blue door, opens on white-streaked
fruitful sky, it looks like the ultimate window, then
it is closing

cruising the ocean's glow, nervous in the international air
spiritual loopholes closing up like sand
broken light in the head

a call is coming from the tree-wall
a siphon is sucking down the marrow of a field,
somewhere skeletons buy tickets, on a narrow highway's
eaves of authority running with piss

deep in my dreamt house
a woman in a plant-dress is always passing
from detachment to detachment
the veil of letters fits her like a leaf
and her snore issues
from the valley of unpublished music

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