Monday, July 26, 2010

Wild nothing.

for Jill Cichoski

One bit of the swing chair's space is suddenly displaced by another's.
The cane aches as sweaty bodies sink in the sway

Talking up the marshal bits of love and love

Or smart--

And it smarts.

For once in a generation you walk past the coyote cage
And don't wish to be like that thing.

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