Friday, February 11, 2011

On the Bank

Three surreptitious little deaths
One loud one
Lighting from the tips of sticky fingers

Old tyme movie images used to
flicker one card at a time
The digital screen is wiped clean
Hands are hands
fingers, fingers
Faceless, but I know your name

Something brazen climbs up on the bank
rustling, poking alive
My eyelids made it too dark to see
This face could seem to be pain
but it's not

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