Tuesday, September 05, 2006

oof. tuesday, the poet's bane.

at some variance to reality
sand rising between your toes
you're not bound to your father

'He leaned his elbow on my table, cigarette in the air,
sulky little beast. A frivolity with a puce scarf.
Small ears tight against his head; thick hair swept high.
All pout and endless upkeep.'


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