Tuche & Automaton

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Intuition

the endless season of
        too late
has begun
     the penultimate parasol
          swirling
burned coffee & campfire smell
    someone broke the
     pot

it sounds like snow
rubbed together as
the footing slips
on loose hornfels
and she drops the bone-cup
the bandanna      to pick up     a soft roaring


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