Dialect of Cirrus

1 August 2012

a measure of the
dead. suppose I should

explain. hours spent sift-
ing the light, no al-

readys to drown. ‘a
bagpipe sings for two –

first for etch and shad-
ow, second, the drone,

in the dialect
of cirrus, for days

with blunt endings.’ is
there a season for

wonder? where sits the
god of golden means?


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