Sunday, June 05, 2005
Alison in the Drawer
It speaks across the sage, a warm
braid that you let fly. The skylight
accepts the pair of us.
Just now, where a tight memory
drops and has you rake up the leaves,
is only one of three.
Let me frame you in that flaky light:
bronzed and distant like a whim
I've never recovered. Just unmade.
And that's my point about opulence:
tough like rock candy.
A facet that glides imperceptibly
between the equally dispersed
horizon and the day's
decreasing quota of work.
// posted by George Manka @ 10:00 PM 
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"the day's decreasing quota of work" --- hey, gimme some more of that decreasement! Though I suspect you've been busy, hence your absence. Welcome back, Coogee-boy.
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