Fall '10 TOC
begin with hard wood to hone, serendipitous grain sifting hue
unaware
we are building a coffin from the inside, pasting artifacts to the cedar lining life as assemblage
ten thousand Cornell boxes across a vast plain, almost touching but we are coffined
looking up
clouds lift, spill out of the mirror
sky becomes pearl handle the blade itself, cranes cry
out towards the horizon, shadows lengthening beyond ourselves
someone is swinging a hammer
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