by Amber Halo
Monday, October 21, 2002
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The fibers all met at one point,
and coiled around each other to form a rope.
The men all stood around the bath,
wraithed in steam and nervous laughs.
One plastic flower pressed into sand,
collecting dust and not a glance.
Copper plated bullets rip holes in the air,
and sing soft lullabies against aging pavement.
Gnarled and half broken ivory comb,
used to part hair now locked behind glass.
Eight bottles of carrot juice on a desk,
all in various stages of warmth and neglect.