Thursday, April 26, 2012



how many scarves would it take to cover
every inch of my bare skin

how long to cook the rice, for the kettle to boil,
how long until

the sky ages unto darkness

and am i dooming myself with owls? superstitious, the stitches
which are mine,
mine seams

in the center, at the depth
of its twinging marrow

love is all good

behind walls of calcification
like kaspar’s room,


with a window

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