He saddled a bowl on his
head, hoping to drown
though perhaps the
pocket will sustain him
in willful defiance of
this thriving distance,
which across
dimensions shall
snuff his flowering
ability to sow
caresses from between
pinched digits, rough
and tumble like the
muddy soles
he walks upon
One cannot run
thirteen hundred
miles alone
16 September 2009
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