Friday, April 25, 2008

My nails

I’m looking at my nails now. They look like steam. White and brown, live and dead- like an opaque barrier between what is and what could be. At the end of my fingers are crusty crescents of a stale star.

In the ambit of possibility, where does beyond begin?
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Day 93 of 108

 A hibiscus near a teacup, An orchid by a glass of wine, A park bench in twilight, Our Mondays soaked in brine. 

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