Saturday, January 15, 2011

Norlina

there is fever
that never leaves 
a mind

waking from
it rushes to

begins as the
dream of a
moment 

a paradise

of the last glimpse
of that tear
the taste/smell
of that...and
of a last word
about never
a jesus tee
a brown corduroy
belt loop
a shared pale
ale over free
community
television

squeezing
holding fast to
the vanishing
long washed 
image

from blurs it
re-forms as
the dresser
the clock on the wall
the sense they both
make

the day will roll
but the smell
the wet
the shaking hearts
remind like needles

now and then

becomes only unquenchable
thirsts
for sugars
in liquids and
alternative

and waking and
hugging your nothing

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