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Words

The simple contact with a wooden spoon and the word  
recovered itself, began to spread as grass, forced  
as it lay sprawling to consider the monument where  
patience looked at grief, where warfare ceased  
eyes curled outside themes to search the paper  
now gleaming and potent, wise and resilient, word  
entered its continent eager to find another as  
capable as a thorn. The nearest possession would  
house them both, they being then two might glide  
into this house and presently create a rather larger  
mansion filled with spoons and condiments, gracious
as a newly laid table where related objects might gather  
to enjoy the interplay of gravity upon facetious hints,  
the chocolate dish presuming an endowment, the ladle  
of galactic rhythm primed as a relish dish, curved  
knives, finger bowls, morsel carriages words might  
choose and savor before swallowing so much was the  
sumptuousness and substance of a rented house where words  
placed dressing gowns as rosemary entered their scent  
percipient as elder branches in the night where words  
gathered, warped, then straightened, marking new wands.
Autres oeuvres par Barbara Guest...



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