770 Readings | 2 Ratings
“I’m alone in the…”
I’m alone in the tourniquet of shade in
the garden watching apples assail space
with the way they punctuate it.
They’re so good at angles you mistake them for
shadows. Hanging there:
poetry grows on trees.
the garden watching apples assail space
with the way they punctuate it.
They’re so good at angles you mistake them for
shadows. Hanging there:
poetry grows on trees.
Posted 07/07/09
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