Sunday, December 21, 2003

W/out Borders (Scape two)

Medicine sweet tigers might take it
and leap into arms

The sand cracks feet it doesn’t
recognize, feet wholly immersed

ankles to honey. What have you been
doing these years? Who have we

been, or is it Who am I?
Once called the same game the

doctors are given to blame. But this is
purely for commercial space, a way

to sell clocks. Big hand points to destiny,
little hand to your head.

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