Monday, April 11, 2011


Morning arrives so
nonchalantly I think
it must have known.
A question whose answer

is inertia interrupts
itself again. Silence
continues exiting through
a wormhole in our wood.

Nonsense discovers what
couldn't have been gleaned
by any other means.
Something that makes

the mandatory illusory
lulls the jasmine to sleep.

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