Sunday, March 20, 2011

The Diaphanous Library / new poems 2011

Without Smoke For Hands, Without Alcohol For Eyes

All winter long I have hidden myself inside the stacks
without smoke for hands and without alcohol for eyes,
dreaming of sand, the bright sun an x-ray of revelation,
writing summers Chekhov, Platonov and Solzhenitsyn
could only ever have imagined in their cold imaginations.

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