Location: Southeastern, United States

Thursday, May 12, 2005

vaster than empires and the sound of box fans.

Poems are born of this, this (before the storm) heat, this box-fan-rattling heat, this sound like the musty hotel rooms of the world, rattling down a Managua dawn, rattling down the smell of Chapel Hill traffic, rattling down right here right now in a bundle of words and a bouquet of wilting agrostemma. Poems are born of this right here with the possibility of thunderstorm drifting peaceful down the spine and the heavy beautiful sound of the world waiting. waiting. I wish the world would wait for this.



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