Monday, August 1, 2011

what once was loved.


She has a mind for corners
& dying cigarettes
Half bent on the grass
Like an archway to the bees
Swollen- trotted
it’s always-something

she calls on him
& hears his voice
Though never sees his face
Her finger laces the air
She moans – I’m such a liar!
The deer scatter, a window opens

The sun setting like it’s broken.

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