Wednesday, December 28, 2016


a city composed of persimmons.
How often I have imagined
a poem composed of persimmons.

1 comment:

  1. Crime Scene VII

    anatomical drawing from the 14th century
    she is studying , puts her hand up to the light

    officer points out a cloudy old window inserted into a wooden boat hull over which a recipe has been half opened and then stomped on to break the binding

    they peer under the grassy armature for a while

    Crime Scene VIII

    car pulling up
    then high heels
    then a cigarette lit
    then he kisses her
    then she says

    'I don't know, I'm not sure"
    then she gets in his way

    Car takes off
    he sits down on the ground, head in his hands, weeping
    Radio music all of a sudden
    blonde dropped off