Sunday, September 4, 2011

The cleft upon the wild.

This park closed hours ago. And everyone has since

Disappeared behind the curtaining ripples of voting booths.

Even now, aimless and undecided, I imagine the tepid poetry
Of reason. The sensations flee.

An evening purse of birds and blackened greenery slouches--


It is yawning, as it prepares to sleep.

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