Tuesday, January 7, 2014

RED CRAYON

Whenever 
it is—

that 
the word 

and 
the thing

are drawn-
together so-
perpetually 

that they start
to move! 
at once—toward their great

goal of
becoming—once 

and for-
all
one 

and
the very 
same thing—alas!—

such specious 
and

pregnant 
sorts 
of 
moments

always seem 
to want 
to tend

to bend
forever
down 
and off
of their container pages—slowly

moving, melting
flowing,

dancing!
waxy
to-
ward exotic
kinds of 

ruination—the kind
known only to our 

awkward boxed-
in
senses

of dignity—as pure 
embarrassment.

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