Thursday, September 8, 2011

Matterhorn

Heart, heart:
cataracts are not my scene.

The mirror
ricochets headphone
cymbals, keys--

puzzle paper beats
its rope.

No is the stuff of aureoles:
a sterilized place already

zeroed into pyramid
sleep.

2 comments:

  1. I like this, Keith; certainly obtuse enough to deflect my pedestrian interpretation.

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