Saturday, October 10, 2009

(third): A Sheep From Wools



A Sheep from wools.

The man making a sheep from wools,

Oh I am cold, cold.

Where is the skin?

Oh, the light is nice here,

So I sew

The thread is tearing the sky apart.

The girl, knowing not to cry
For this is it,
The manner of afternoon.

The swift taking of a bath

The marionette sodden
Its feet lifting the sky up.
Always up.

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