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There's something almost arcane
in watching her
delicate fingers in difficult dances
as the weave ink-tracked pages
into corners, pockets, and folds.
She transforms the near-forgotten past
with sorcerous will,
into fragile flights
of reed-legged herons,
sloped-necked swans,
and the miniscule
murder of crows
now taking wing
from her windowsill.

Smile if you're stupid,
laugh if you understand.

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The following comments are for "Feathers folded"
by Bartleby

taking flight
Your poem takes you to the edge then lets your mind real. Nice choice of words... I wait to hear more.

Much Love

( Posted by: krazeekookie [Member] On: December 24, 2002 )

The Master is the Student is the Master
Your best yet, Bartleby. I really liked this piece for a variety of reasons. For one, your style has definitely developed since the last time I remember reading anything of yours. Two, I like the way you found words to express your feelings without resorting to cheap cliches. That's probably my biggest problem with poetry these days. Keep at it, my friend. I miss our conversations.


( Posted by: MKMINION [Member] On: December 25, 2002 )

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