Tuesday, November 10, 2015

white noise of an afternoon


perhaps it is the fly buzzing in the next room
against the dimpled glass
or
the echoing
buzz of the speedway 3.7 miles to the south
undercurrent becomes the undertow
distraction to pause;
pause in the paisley steps of the day
pause in the presence of breaths
pause in the wonder of gravity
lucky is the lost

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