Void Manufacturing

“Turning and turning in a cell, like a fly that doesn’t know where to die.”

Posted by voidmanufacturing on September 26, 2008

The sky is blue black

starlings unfold their wings

quit their pediments 

to write a letter

returned.

The setting sun 

fills teeth with gold.

Like a shred of meat 

I’m lodged in this town.

 

-John Berger

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