Sunday, December 31, 2000

Many mouths of water;
the distant fictions.
The pawn of Americans;
the retribution of slavery.
Rent expanses
whose congealing we are not.

A smattering of clacking,
chattering inner deaths,
those care-worn,
cumbersome clods,
ungainly, unattached.

A breccia
of multifarious singing over
singed and black-rotten tomes;
pocked moon under frontal lobe;
appropriated sea;
wind-worn moss
and flaccid doubt.

Old Pine outside a shattered oak
Old oak inside a holy pine.

Unexpected end.
To listen toward that
but to sense away from it.
Copy of the near-nether
overpainting the same story.


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