TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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02.26.07, monday night
The other night I looked at the moon through binoculars as if it was a blue tit having a bath in our rain gutter. Observe the feathers, the color, the blackness of its eye.
It was a white rose above the still, shining bay.
Reflected in the window was a thin frame of light, glowing around the door behind me.