Tuesday, September 6, 2011

3250. CINDER

 CINDER
How well-known all I've wanted, how little-known
all I've got. The charred-scared cinder I kick down
the street knows more about burning than I about
heat. And, next to that, how 'powerless I' walks about
still is a wonder. Blue sky, red and setting sun. I
looked homeward angel, but to realize there is none.

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