Friday, June 09, 2006

Fuselage

He was the first to see it.
Floatsam.
How there can be a hole in the ice
steely lake
graveyards
I know how the seats are
metal on the bottom
and burgundy.
Pheasants in numbers
the metal smell of fresh blood.
Thier feathers
I believe gone.
Gone.
Without wings anymore.
What fear is like.
How the lake looks from above
majestic
moonscapes
ice barges.
He was the first to see what was missing.
He told me.
The tenth to understand
Missingness.
The way dogs molt when they are nervous.
Where are the feathers?

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