Sunday, August 21, 2011


(a postcard poem)

I find lost manuscript
and breathe deep, thankful breaths.
I finish watching The Laramie Project, twice through,
and find I like my televised horror
better against the bright day
than before I go to sleep at night.

That's an important life note.

Fact acquired from viewing
means memory real as my hands
could not have happened.
And the manuscript
which never seems to be done
takes another step backward.

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