Thursday, March 01, 2007

If this were a city, I’d be going in circles around a cul-de-sac

Fractals of song. Notes careen through my space. The ethernet
is draped in fragile voice lace. In the eaves of a guitar
we are separated by chords and fretting over domino doors falling.
A glancing blow. No more. No more. The sun still gives
its love to the spaces between where fable catches the first rays.

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