Thursday, January 10, 2008


You be the thickness of my life
styled black cord
the warm evening of summer wind, coiling
wrapped round and through the air in an outward-looking room
blood hanging out of veins
sitting, suspended along the listening of one album
thick in the air,
thick in thought and expanding into alveolar holes
a thought
a series of thoughts, interwoven with a thickness of feeling
and the shock of the repeated new
with an each of all before returning,
matter formed fresh in the mat of past experience.
You are running out and running through,
expending precious time and precious resource, as a
laboratory experiment that never actually gets the hypothesis,
and a new, or a never new recalling,
till my life,
runs a
rings with this echo, sadly receding,
or pulsing like half-forgotten blood.
I, too
I have the shape
I am timed out
and timing

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