glide

walden freemanwalden freeman Posts: 511
edited March 2008 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
the landscape has hardened
fixtures crowd our walls and
we respond to touch

the cold weather proves
we still remember
how to breathe

and my tongue has
been punctured
and my eyes soldered

closed, early, it's sunday
in the northern
part of the state

wish, bones crack
upon landing
we've discovered nothing
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