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This innocent lace curtain Simon Perchik East hampton NY |
This innocent lace curtain And this innocent lace curtain. Still, it's better than nothing --the king's unmarried daughter more voluptuous than ever. I can hear the stirrups, the hooves and the windowshade slipping on its steep glass --little by little my heels begin to clank, prancing and along the single-minded slope the planet makes for itself --hear my head grow huge, nodding in thinner and thinner air. Better than no horse and at the top the sun struggles too mistakes this window for winter little by little, unable to keep a foothold --all the way down listens for traces, icicles that held the first flowers and in the cold the princess leans closer the way whispers have always warmed bedrock and every Spring more hills till half the sky now falls back and the other half still footstep by withered footstep returning as rain and the heartbeats from those beginning two flowers. [Return to Psychopoetica home page] ©The contents of this page are copyright protected.
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