KITE

Folder: 
2003 Poetry

surge up the clouds, feel the wind speed

which whisk on your sensitive tawny peel

bring yourself to the fore, see the maneuvering

arm of your master, only a twine holds

your sovereignty to be at the uppermost

as the law of gravity would say, what goes

up must come down....no sooner than you think

you’ll be back on the ground, tattered, useless, airless















written 1/16/2003

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