Tuesday May 14, 2013 § Leave a comment

At dull junctions the abandoned rosaries
of traffic stops rehearse their incendiary
tides, and your mind finds me leading
by example – my own – stowed somehow
in the day’s smart mercy. Rain fills your
eyes, like a shark’s. This is dawn, and
that is the least you can say of it, and
what you don’t mind is not what’s at stake,
that being always the least significant feature
of any system. Expressways mature
with vernal spite. Dead larks disguise their
pity in the city’s gray bragging. The sands of
the heart run over. Death imagines you in traffic.


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