it even isn’t // I

20May09

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outside one self I am he who looks out from inside
a serial experience

he is merely the voice of that which precedes him
and sometimes spots beauty

by an act of naming it such
that it is as he imagines when it even isn’t

I call I that when looking upon a dead apple
tree with one low lifting branch

tightly budded in deep rose blooms yet to unfold
all under an early day drizzle

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