Wednesday, 12 October 2011


the low grasp clipped,
 vowels and subtlety howls
 through edgeless pages
 infinite stages
raspy tell tales
 and tall men
with dipped heads,
lead boots
and silver tongues
 massaging themselves
through tight spaces
and up elevator shafts,
into swank apartments,
 into private compartments,
into silences
so weighted
that they grasp all of the lightness of your lungs,
 in a handshake.

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