Tuesday, February 02, 2010

Random Conversation  

Sun smudged the Cortland, just beyond the deck
and I, turned away from you, witnessing how brick
can exist more steadfast than theology, enquired:

Is there really such a thing as a poetic voice?

Open a bottle of Petrus,
you replied. Let it evolve
tides across your tongue, then tell me what you experience.

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