Friday, December 08, 2006


on the day of the feast

nothing is immaculate

but this sense

that something will be

conceived like a creation

such as a poem or a song

or a life is comforting

and worried that this

might not be so

I am struck

by the intesity

of such doubts


(I leave you nothing

but the wake)


(here we go again)


(I see you standing there

ready for the take)

and all that will become

what they refer to as me

will become the reference

in itself

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