Thursday, July 28, 2016


Her long hands are short in the street's life
pouring a salt river through a visor-shaped hole in the air
of dimension space, taking the walk of cement sun guts
on an arching slope
that become a cipher of ice
towering circle of icicles
for the world to look over.

Turning hoop of ages that carries
its melting sections with
sacred geometry, putting forth
its radiance.

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