Tuesday, July 15, 2008

exercise for today

On my tongue memories of foul snowflakes, in the rain, hair a twisted tangle of oatmeal and butterflies. I tolerate balloons and butterflies in lieu of phone communication or the education of birds, disintegration of every winning lottery ticket. Don’t fake this egg. The axe, my teeth, sharpen safety and watermelon over a meal of marginalia. The mushrooms have grown distant this year. The miasma encircles, lingers, travels far to hold the pieces apart. If you were only as large as a pea, we would have lost your shoes altogether, the leaf a structure of redemption and shelter, your tail flailing for want of a protective cape.

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