consonantberry

Blown

In Poetry, Uncategorized on May 8, 2012 at 5:39 pm

Dims the wits
In confiscation bits
Of sin drinking
In the corner
With the deeper
Eyes than paintings
Should go in color,
Into the theory
Of how to make
Mud out of grace,
How to trace
Wrinkles into lakes
Still in glass, ageless.
-how to put ridges
Into that face,
How to end eternal
Unsending “waveless”
With the whitecaps
Of “blown”.

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