Thursday, November 4, 2010

the boldness of things not seen

in the boldness of Things not Seen
there is nothing but pure Poetry

On a fine night
I can smell
the Equinox:
the delicate sensation
of fall
a clear tranquility

. . . . . . . . .

The OED word of the day for the erasure poem is (was, if you are reading this after 4pm PDT) 'pungency.'

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