Saturday, June 19, 2010

Bookworm


Her arctic mind
ice cold attic window

Her desert heart
a toy in the basement

Holy sand the dreaming way
a record sleeve rung frozen played

Ringing icy hill, snowy olive bell
don't hold your breath for a second or less
underwater is no place to breath

With a pile of dirt in the palm of your hand
you can find yourself in the wrong place

Plug in the wires
a mechanical dream

moth webbed morning hours
cold eyes
shine little bookworm

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