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Tuesday, October 5, 2010

The journey continues with two of my poems and four images


This should be a voice.

The should be a red voice.

I did not know that this

Would have this appearance,

That it would seem to be a collection

Of stars at a window, the blue

Eating away at where the moon

Was just reaching. This does not

Appear to be a voice. It is

So silent. I can’t get back

To it often enough. There isn’t

A sensation of sound at all.

Shaking the sleep away with

A voice. How can this be

As it seems. I will write

It down here. I will come

Here to listen. I will not know

Anything but the voice.

I will not be reading at all.

I will know what this really is.


I was once a farm.

The soft lips of dairy cows

Across my skin. The wheat

Discovering the sun and yes

The vegetables, huge books

Full of them, gardens they were

Called and too the rooster

And the hens and cats and dog,

A lamb, three goats in pens,

A pig, then two and Tommy

Took a horse awhile, and that

Was nice. His day: the pumps

And wagons, tools and working

The while. I was once

A farm. And now, a vacant parking lot

At the side of a Target store.

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