Friday, March 26, 2010


Cloud staining cloud;
silver seeping through white screens;
tarnish soaking through cotton.

Forget love, forget the writing of poems.
Come with me. Walk on moss crusted sidewalks:
tell stories about five year olds

and the deeds of long dead cats.
Ask riddles you learned when you were small.
Tell your favorite color.

Walk the curb like a balance beam;
pool your change with me
to buy a Three Musketeers.

We'll watch the sky change
and the rain sweep down from the hills
until the gutters run clear as glass.

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