
repose..vulnerability, all this in a pinkness speaks to me
dehatted, without claws, not even prickled by a dull wind
you're exposed, like this photograph, to the world
introduced to a knife at birth
long shuffling halls, nuns or whitehatted syringe-carriers
smells like plastic or starched blankets
you must feel the pavlovian draw of these things
like a string tied around the cool monasterial moon
the capital of a vine is a fine bell dome,
descended by gravity's thrall;
your fields are reaped,
the last is winter's withdrawal
Thank You.
http://i18.photobucket.com/albums/b127/ ... erwear.jpg