Friday, January 7, 2011

poem vii.

when the brakes failed
everything turned

golden

the light reflecting on the
cop's face behind in lines
that divided up in pales of creams
his skin, divided into
the windshield
pulsating with index finger
heartbeats


regret just twinging, i thought i might cup my palm around
the curve of his cheekbone


before

well

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