Wednesday, November 24, 2004
they dance a flittingbutterfly, weaving
behind smokescreen and
twisted mirror
grotesque, sometimes
sometimes
an eye or a cheek or a heart
too big, sometimes.
frosted glass sunlight and
noonday shadow, silhouetted
leanness against half-shuttered eye-
is your soul small enough to
hide?
the carousel is squawking its
mechanical gaeity- come on,
they're playing your song! i
even know the words, you can
spin into the
smudged paint and stained
tablecloths of your escape. it's
all right, now,
i know you don't see me
Mina at 1:07 AM
