Friday, May 03, 2002

Sunrise scrawled on salty skin...

true violent colors
born wild in the
no shadows
they burn
brightly die
first end

And the world pulled on reality
like a morning robe
shifting from shoulder
to shoulder till falling just
right with the rise of the day.


Relativistic

through the bright
lighter liquid
                 , which covers all,
edges twist ~ pull

~--~

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