a poem for today, 1 June 2012
[a letter sorted sonnet of four sentences and its image]
So.
The architectonic purity of her world was constantly threatened by such hints of anarchy: gaps and excrescences and skew lines, and a shifting or tilting of planes to which she had continually to readjust lest the whole structure shiver into a disarray of discrete and meaningless signals.
Learning their own identities they become boxed into their own biographies.
I just wanted us to be old together, just two old farts laughing at each other as our bodies fell apart, together at the end by that lake in your painting.
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