Monday, April 21, 2008


The privilege of beauty
is something we’ve imagined
rather than paid for.

When it all blows down
who claims the sky
lets dark outside the eyes.

As the garden perfects
one petal, leaves buckle
into heat streams.

The velvet is lush, alien
unlike diesel and gasoline
dripping rain, rather than sex

reminding you
the wall is pushed
by undone gutters.

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