the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Getting to Know Murphy

Every accident comes with an according accent
That speaks of each incident as an angle of coincidence or fate,
The deflection of light as it shears on your face
Or the Coriolis explosion of a calendar's dates.
In a spiral of colors with dizzy fingers,
A presence lingers where every curl lost grip,
And your heavy words slipped into the uncertain sea
Dissolving the rules that would govern the key.

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