Thursday, August 30, 2007

We know this place


There is a dipping
and a rising tide

Light slides from the bricks outside
and four o’clock's
the gangplank
poised above deep black

The tipping of the pliable
a teasing bounce
the embarkation point, noon

A potted boxwood in terracotta
seems to keep the whole afloat
an object anchoring a body
whose last desire is to be cut loose

Cleave my chest open at sunset
And expose the architecture within

Diagnose this

A lusting for and leaning toward
light, of which we are deprived
deprived deprived

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