1,328 Readings

Critic as Spinning Jenny

Hogs don’t think much. They get down on every root they find. Sometimes the garden pelts her splinters and sometimes they just fall. A runner goes by. He uses the ditch for a track. In the broken cradle, a breaking doll. Her cheek taken away by a thief. All night asperity. Gingerly I’ve been altered by what’s been said to me. Her marble arms too cracked to hold me.
Posted 05/11/10
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