Saturday, August 6, 2011


A garden stoop to sit on, peeking neighbors crane their necks
over bushes and fences, observe your behaviors as if they were birds, and you, the birdwatcher.
generous amounts of time sits with you on that stoop, trucks pass, bikers, vans full of gardeners to their next assignment.
a sound of daytime in the suburbs is a miser's foot, a flower.

fistful of coins, fistfuls of flour, a mouth in the foot, an egg in the brain.
the shape of a tree-branch, caught up in flames.

(we are:
- blankets of flesh stitched together with needles and blood.
- a soup kitchen that weeps tears like an onion.

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