Autumn in a river

November 21, 2013
Why. have strands. of my hair. frayed into toffee webbings of
unfinished candy. surely I am the exception
of age, of silver, of rust
surely this isn't. what erases the calligraphy off
pottery. the moist skin of jars.
the lacquer of leaves, the ones that rot inward. crumble
inward. freeze outward. surely. this is not the
plan of God. to. leave a painting in the rain. to drip the colors into gathering pools beneath. to mix the onyx of water. with. colors. of rust. surely


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