Friday, November 21, 2014

SUN DIAL

As one 
round little 
black pebble eye at a time—unflinching

gyrates back 
and forth again to pierce—with needling beak
the mottled measly 
scraps of a bygone 

November payed 
parking lot lawn for whatever—my hulking shadow
and I

come flooding 
by—directed by the same 
instantiation of wind

to focus—even more narrowly 
on how 

on-point 
the bakery's black 
coffee tastes this morning.

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