Wednesday, August 30, 2006

mOLT wITH cORM*

skin molt with corm and bone rill choused in the plow of her forehead where I once pressed my lips bloodied with mill-weed and choke and the nettles and briar tungsten and the yellow corn blight of eyes gone sallow with fretting and misjudgments and never once a cackle or a sharp invective (the chaff never separated from the absence of skin)

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz