is the can strewn on the floor
forgotten after a hurried lunch.
Your hair as well, and gaze,
never up, only close, it's as brown
as your hair.
The inning, Sox vs. Yanks, was not.
Love was not. Your hair is.
As brown as leaves. Time was.
As brown as leaves.
Plain American Language
I cut a sliver/of WC William's finger
and placed it inside/my philosophy...
and placed it inside/my philosophy...
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
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