Saturday, September 6, 2008

Yearbook (9.1)

The tennis ball dropped from the boy’s hand, bounced twice, and rolled away. The way that gets in the way. I for one take semantics way to seriously. Only the moon gets to work backwards and unlearn the scholar’s bitten nail. “I am only pronouns, and I am all of them.” No matter where the hammer lands I go, and bump into things (a pile of cardboard boxes under negative roses) all the time, like a phantom that needs glasses.

No comments: