Fern fronds and other spores of thought: A tight ropes walk through the vine foragings' of inky, bird footed words and wild hair, to the high alpine lake, up past the glaciers, in monuments of dust, the liberty bell, and the treaty of ver-psych-out. The rumbling gut of American language, writing, and poetry, with love.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Tell the Story >->------->
Growl Prowl Trowl
- shuvel smoke-
liquid ink,
lyrical like Dale Wasserman,
scuttle down track
scuttle down track
swim upstream
swim upstream.
there is a boy for
which bed is not a time,
and who dances & kneels legs crossed,
laughing,
the aproaching trains whistle snaking
up the tracks.
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