Tuesday, August 7, 2012

The Ushers of the Exact Limes

At home in the caves of the sun
A perfect chest of drawers.
Ringed fingers.  The plausible ins-dead
Standing, soap flake galoshes
Essentially gardens, mythologies
Where the other animals read
After the lights go out, after
The war.  We shine up the lily,
The touch of feet silver the linens
And method.  The story of us
Tangerines every sympathy
Pursuance of limits
When parted.  To logic, a fig, flames.
Clouds and letters, blown.
If I could go where no one lives
And stare into oblivion,
It would be exactly as here and in this life.

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