Wednesday, October 27, 2004

trying it on...

cut the red-black sorghum
a bed of blonde cane

like blood-flecked afters
like the wall behind
the dog kicks her ear

fields the color in nosebleed
blunting your nails on a side stone
the itch gallops away

* * *

heads of sugar
massacre blacked in

shadow rows run
dainty over pulse and root

the fault is how far
the odor moves

you pedaled wound

* * *


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