lavender shingles of dusk signaling the end of the day
a weeping orchestration chest
the variegated ponds of light peach, azure
dappled drips of orchid like hungover bad-
80's mascara, the tempo of the seasons split
into the feeling of your body inside her body
Like your body all alone ensconced inside the
curtain of your own flesh, the feeling at
sunset that somehow next harvest will be
more propitious, that life shouldn't hurt
Because the errant button of yer reality is so much more than just a simple stage curtain, it is a passionate pergola of corporeal longing, a recital for every botched blessing that somehow, like your body creatively configured in hard-right geometrical angles of grace, is still to come.....
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Oberkorn harvest in the key of eternal longing.....
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