Monday, February 12, 2007

Third Culture Baptismal

What flying does one consequence
To know the secrete and lament

Cool graves outspread down woe
And chocolate dishy parapets

Made. Make order to the breezey
Down, clouds constructed like new

Cities bloom. Up here I live in dying,
Force Xanax to a prince’s coat

And vomit like a secret child
In the smoke-free terlet.

It takes 16 hrs to crost one ocean
And one window to peep down of

Each swirl of sleep bent hair
Admits the failure to ignore

these lengths of crossing.

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