Sunday, 30 December 2012

Where The Wind Is A Thing Of Horses And Roundedness

Mathematically it equalled a cigarette
all the role of its knowledge was gold
that travelled the winds, made marks
to go down the road feeling bad.
The cool notice in the dust led
to her, her square hammer
making midnight a cold home for her
where the wind is a thing of horses and roundedness
and the going is hard, edges plugged
a white morph around each well cut.
The drama ends, is measured, equals
eighteen hurt bones sleeping.
Set the lungs for more, consider the tape
take leave of the chalkboards, erase the selectors.


  1. nice analogy to mathematics! as much as life seems to be random.
    happy new year, dear friend



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