Monday, February 24, 2014

On Eyelids and the Spaces Between Them



You were the fortune 
I should have found
By now- somehow. 
Perhaps if I sold
My shadows
We'd never fear rain
The way we do. 
As if it'd never end
And we were allergic
To every little bead
That swallowed us;
As if the head were the heart
The feet were the cause
And a pulse forced the choice. 

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