Friday, April 1, 2011

2 of 30

The road, a rock and a rose

Leaves, wrapped in blankets.
The boy whispered. “Just a little ways” he said
I’ll hear you

Looked into Nothing when he walked out.
The country lying. The visible shape, the moon caustic light
The murk, a river, the blackened quadrants, burned city, the morning

At the edge of winter, they opened up the hillside
With pick and mattock, serpents collected, a common warmth
The dull beginning sluggishly,
The bowels of some great beast

The gasoline burned
No remedy for evil
The image of it

exercise from

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