Saturday, April 14, 2007

The Cliffs of Blackrock

Each shaft of rock is a needle in the arm
Of a Chinese doll, and it’s begging
For a little bullion to ward off

The incredible saga of the crow and shadow
That duel despairingly –
Soft kicks like folds of snow

Tossed against a mannequin’s navel,
A little smart punch
Like a sudden memory of a childhood

Toy, it’s starting to sprinkle
Gray water like the water shimmered
On new cement in a cemetery walkway.

It would be impossible to rise from the earth
With such a lid in place,
And the cliffs go on breathlessly.

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