Wednesday, September 03, 2014

Time of Day

In the morning                  concrete
a confused seagull                           stray sunlight
lapsed sounds of night                  and
that music which

tactile is a tracery of potential
like words uttered           below the
heartbeats of hearing    with just emotion
to which to cling.

I could elevate the sun                  resuscitate
the minutes adrift like
Manatees, like spiders forever
spinning their webs.  I could

photograph  the arm time  leans in
                in a certain way
as though memory exists
and the future doesn’t      

predict         itself.

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