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Buoy the population of the soul
Toward their destination before they drown
~ Robert Pinsky
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helma object publisher


Monday, 8. May 2006

Night Rorschachs



[1]
When summer wind swung the door
through its whole arc

The mask fell from the nail leaving and revealing bones of air.

Such is the heavy weight, the unbearableness of
Words Being Light.

Wherever tears fall, glistening white, on the open page of night they wound they wound.

[2] A rusty staircase wound like a snake around a pole

Is how your memories spiral up and down my spine.

None visits them anymore none, not even me.




My Poems

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bones of air


al right, kundera makes an impression, nevertheless, spiraling memories, bones of air..eerily alert and yet the poem is nauseated and closing from the brilliance of its intermittent incandescence. Quite a s(h)ock!

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