02 February 2011


Dross 2/2

When you hit me
the sparks burned holes
in the snow

I could write a book of sand
and still not decipher
half of this pebble

The holes are drops of piss
are cigarette through thin
cotton blanket on the grass
and we are at a picnic on it

And I understand less
then nothing
and I drop from great height
I splash on pavement

Grains against wind
flapping against ticks of clock

Here are measurements :
            120th St.

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