I'm the man who cries
because the moon won't turn
corners with me. In this
prolific universe, certainties
can resusitate a telescope
from almost certain boredom
on a screened-in porch;
in restaurant chatter, my love
orders the potato-skins, I
a sliver of my own shadow
uncoupled from the tracks.
I know it's me because the kids
still throw rocks, even when
I turn the corner. Their laughter
follows me much the same way
you do: all purple and overfed,
scrolling out from under my feet.
Why do you waste so much time
moving so far away, when
even when I turn the corner I'm
the same man?
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Anningan (in progress) http://www.lewislacook.com/Anningan/AnningansDoor.html
http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/
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Not Sleeping in Moon Riddle
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Type: discussion