Wednesday, May 5, 2010

once a lovely hole to wholeness

that
cracked
remains
of
a
tire
on
the
shoulder
of
the
road

parts
of
it
shredded
like
something
skinned
alive
or
dead

i
remember
a
certain
tire
that
was
once
suspended
in
a
tree
by
a
lovely
swinging
rope

that
held
laughing
childrens'
shapes
that
cut
back
& forth
through
summer
wind

now
there's
that
flat
mutilated
tire
on
the
road

&
another
kind
of
rope
&
hole
awaiting...
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.

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