Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Dear Wrought Iron Fence,

In troubled times I imagine turning you into
a weapon. Tonight in full

moonlight I decide what you might say
if you could speak,

a voice that sounds like Mary Tyler Moore when
she holds a spear.

In December ice is your secret
friend, I can tell

by the ferocious way each glass
knife finds

a way to embrace you.

(One of the 69 Letters poems)

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