Wednesday, April 27, 2011

My fleet

Flee.
(Don't.)

Go.
(No.)

Suppose
(Yes.)

I'm supposing.
The doctor calls with my
results.
There's something foreign
hovering. The carnival's
in town.
I'm going on the ferris wheel.
And sit.
Think.
Let the pigeons, their
many gray wings,
in. And what happens?
They sing.


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