Posted: April 7, 2009 in Ink & Feather
Tags: , , , ,

I seem to be in poetry mode at the moment. Weird. But also fun.


when precisely was it that my

fingers (scrap-nailed, bent)




lined with use, adult tools that do not

resemble those slim fronds

with which I learned

to grasp crayons, doorhandles


firmly, with a child’s sense

of seriousness in such simple tasks; when


did the callous below

the ring-finger of my left hand,

flesh-caramel dot beneath a silver band

form; or when


did the sharp creases of

my palms first tar

in lines of life, heart,  mercury


the hidden onwards road,

the wandering star?  

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