Free Margins
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
A screen with holes, with barken vines
never before caught in the act of piercing
but now I see them, blown by the the wind
squeezed in between these buildings
into the window, into the room.
I jump at them, unwisely. I get them, they fall
a few floors slowly, I think, though I suppose
thats wrong. But I am hanging on by my free margins,
an evocative name for the fingernail,
the part of it that leaves the finger.
To be fair I hung on for only a second.
Then it hurt. I fell slowly.
I thought, this must be wrong.
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