Sunday, February 10, 2013

Dust


The 18th century mahogany shoe rack,
 finally spilled. Ivory worms savoring on
hollow bones and crimson innards,  
reduced to Dust on fine Italian leather.
A rabbit thump and good as new.
An aging loafer leaves rotten remains,
a lingering musty smell, gathers Dust.
He never thumps, He limps, spreads it far
On grass, wet and never trampled before.  



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