Sunday, December 12, 2004

SOME LINES IN SEARCH OF A POEM   In the month of Remember, rain drunk poets dream dreams   like unwanted puppies in a rucksack, like eggs coddled or soft boiled.   The muse rocks her delirious breasts to sleep. Her arms crush the meaning moons to gorgeous death.   Shall we iron smooth the tiny seas until the weak mothers in the blood smell love   like bitter chocolate smeared on rose petals?   Dana Pattillo 4:37:52 AM    comment []