Monday, July 28, 2008
Termini
The surface of the loading dock had been milled
by a century
of pallet-laden forks.
The ballast
emerged in a loose,
slippery flour. I could feel its
granular drift beneath my shoes.
Nails and washers were compacted in
the sediment. An iron
cross-beam poised its hesitant
threat, rushing us
molecule by molecule.
// posted by George Manka @ 10:43 AM 
