Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

June 27, 2004

city tanka: sidewalk

viii.
solitude is its
own excuse, told to ourselves
when no one's listening
the eye weeping up a pool
of invented, lost letters.

I've struggled with the last couplet, and I'm still not satisfied. I would really love to hear any couplets that come to your minds out there. Anyone?


Posted by delire at June 27, 2004 07:53 PM
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