Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Poetry makes nothing happen

In you, in others,
In all around
I see
By change, or chance
Or
Mystery's decree.

Can't be scanned
Anymore than
Feelings can.

This Wingspan.

Never paid (me) a single cent
Yet
(I) pay for the privyleague.

My palm spread
A-cross, your cups
Local area networks pan.

Make something happen?
Un-open, unhand?

Our liquid gold for your finest starland.

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