Saturday, January 02, 2010

Talia lit

Talia lit
a candied wick,
her annual try
to melt away
the cherry-glazed

but having
no taste for cake
and no fondness
for pie, she drips pink-
blue stings on her

palm, its cracks
brimming with waxy
rivers, to set
a striped and flamed
believing, where
as when

the tremors
go out, she'll wish
for tears to rise
and curled smoke to close
the black eyes of

Francis Scudellari
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