Friday, May 3, 2013

No Moral

In the morning
after
cold rain–messy
constellations
smear
the wet concrete—smashed
ruddy knots of tree-
buds wasted by reck-
less wind and
long
abandoned by their branches—this is how
new worlds
get started—harsh and
muddy and without
fables;
just take it
from
these battered maples, kid—
life's a bunch of hit
and misses.

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