i brand your skin
ever so graciously
forcing in my metal rod with the
figure of a peacock on the end

water flows over dead yellow tails
walking into their next life
in a dimension not quite known to many

taking heavy breaths of the autumn
air as it blows through oak trees
and gathers itself to a stop on
your parched brown throat

11/04/2011

Posted on 11/04/2011
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