outwait outrun outwit





TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


05.07.05, saturday afternoon


oh how the wind keens its sorrow
awake and silver on a cold May morning
guitar creaks on the bookstore PA system
pigeon-tails fan during futile tangos
a hundred grey brooms sweep
back and fro and back again
across the gummy sidewalk
the old woman cries I am
Moses!
to port waters
speaking in bottled secrets
kept to themselves






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