Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

April 20, 2004


I enjoy scattering drafts

of my writing around.

littering unvisited parts

for instance

folding drafts of poetry into paper birds and

throwing them off cliffs! caught on

cliffside branches or

slicing into jungle canopy


tearing prose into many pieces

and then smaller ones

holding all these words in my hands

cupping these unvisited words.


out the train window and

when as in surprise my fingers open

they are absolved of me

thrashing like moths

they fly deep into night

NB: I'll stop posting old poems after I graduate; most of this stuff is taken from
the chapbook I just completed yesterday; copies available sometime soon.

Posted by Delire at April 20, 2004 12:11 PM
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