Saturday, September 3, 2011


I heard a crow in the late summer coolness
A dry resonance under the thick clouds
A dim reminder of the heat we wore thick for too long
A dim day which follows an evening whose taste bitters on the tongue
What is it that I hope for wringing my hands raw?

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Optimization is always short sighted

Televisions overlap in disparate discourse
"What is the point of this projected purpose?"
The evening light fading as the humidity slackens a rope not yet let loose
We crouch inside from the heat or is it the mosquitoes laying siege to our indefensible positions Clouds mill in the sky
They say it shall rain this evening on the heels of pressure from the arid south



The day blossoms out
And into the hazy twilight
The sky drops its modesty
At the sun's inviting gaze
The unblemished skin flowing out
Of night's dark veil