Thursday, July 28, 2011

Poem by Cola Hines

Secret secret
our fictions become real
don’t say that you said 
you need to become 
an admirer or else 
you are lost — what you prize 
above all else is 
clarity — but what you 
must have is harder 
to determine
flagrant moonlight
craving for peacocks
air pouring down
horrific mofo
or no one; the problem
always sticking to
what’s determined
or imagined; you shouldn’t 
do that, you’re a tool
following nacre
when you know it’s uncool
to insist on continuity
in this night curiously 
without coyotes
they overdid it last time
day decanted
the nothing that happened
reality and dream
while you’re away

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