Monday, July 14, 2008

in the murder of the days awake
atria passing one to other courts
with veiled fencing yards drawn
from the silk of the spice trails.
that perambulation in my mind
sitting dead in a flaneurs post
mortared concrete romanesque
secretive whispers. tremble
minor literatures where choice
deviating anew centre from
a whole periphery of closed
symbolically stratified expungers,
soaking up identity, and roses
left six thorns to decay in lay
with love of the myriad day
parades along the boulevards
designed and deranged helmed
revolutions of secondary and
primary inquisitors. one on
the line, the other.

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