whispering in
to my wrist
you are not bleeding this is no wound*- these are loosely bound roses
momentary but
with momentum
Monday, October 21, 2013
as much about process as about the finished product
our tedious nostalgia
our stories
a space in which we lose our balance, we die
this poem is planned
and
paced
resting
in the background
its echoes
you saying you hear me
and the Sea
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