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Monday, June 28, 2010

Tempus Fugit


like a hammer; fruit flies, a banana.
A tossed skewer never rights,
but falls like an arrow.

I’m writing what I call
extended verse; it’s where
even though some great fish

breasts, one foregoes lashing
the endsprits down, and taking them
in iron jaw, tries to catch right

the angel’s tone beneath.


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