Tuesday, March 08, 2005

#70 The Lost World

In the surrounding
trees define
the type of horse
that might be found
there. The contours
suggest a woman’s
body; but with a
different angularity
some have seen
it as an empty
bowl of fruit. A figure
loses its memory
along with its outline.
Words wilt in the
winter heat. There
are no dinosaurs.

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