Tuesday, April 20, 2010

She was classically beautiful.
She had a nose like an oboe.
Carving through the hills that hang
Brown and pregnant with the frost
A silver spoon with dirt stained hands
Rests easy on the porcelain curves
Not enough mouthfulls to go.

On being inside time

I lose myself inside today Rattling against walls  Smooth unmarked unyeilding With the futility of  An unwatched clock Today is much too vas...