Wednesday, January 14, 2009

I curtailed into the rocks
bottom, where the jagged edges
act like jump points back
to a place you never wanted
back, re-visiting yourself and
with wonder of whether there’s
enough strength to stand against
those damning old willows dragging
their heals and wearing lead
parishes, a convents monk left-tag
and babies in a mail slot for
delivery, in resetting my order,
can I still stand motionless
in the face of my past, or
is the path that’s always
been there, can I follow.

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