Monday, November 15, 2010

We are intertextual.
Decisions I make have links to your pages.
Your brow and its furrows,
your ebb and my flow.

My narrative informs yours
and even if never we speak again
we're reacting to our intertextuality.

Your landscape of ice
laden lava fields are woven
by my fire that seared under
and still bubbles
underneath. The
flaws, he says,
provide context
for the bits you like.

So each cherry has a stone.

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