Friday, March 7, 2008

Ache 26


26


glory beholden

the stars like crumpled
programs through a sewer
grate.

So wish / loser / on that first smudge /

a thread unravels.
The sleeve pulls off.

In front of the orchestra
pit flailing

/ silk shirt / I imagine a white flag.

/ /

While music pushes
past all hope of surrender.




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