February, 9, 2008 Day poem
almost borealis. I light the birds on fire. . all my
greasy little fingers. slip on red. from temperature
change. inside blood rushes to skin. turns pink.
“somebody took leave of her shoes.” somebody soaked
into her skin only to have it slough off in pieces along the
trailing open. torn skin minerals. root systems.
in cities. trees speak. volumes to anyone who will listen.
skin a vehicle as much as any bus or taxi. so unreasonable
in the street. beside busted television sets and a nice chair.
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