Tuesday, September 25, 2007

New poem: Passing




the word eaten by wind
as I hold the heavy door
turn to catch a whiff
of brunette and hazel
and grey wool and

young young young
slight and slightly

for less time than it takes
swung glass to shut me in
her out
I forget my headache
my debt, dead, day

in scent
in vanilla
in baby powder
something something something

something young

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