09 December 2008


Precise packets of uneven
pages lead me to believe
something hand-woven and true
has been reborn, where there was 
only self-pleasure and doubt
about the craftsmanship; But look
there is that same backward glance appeased
in some daft artisan's assertion

He wins, his witty embellishment
a thoughtful deception; This heart's december 
spread out, even little smudges
dot the surface of best laid pains.

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