��the smell of olive. it happens in the interest of soaking away
reverie underneath swarthy flutter
��if at last you want to (vanish) under the ghost-
��ly va-
��le abandon her encounter. smell of burnt ochre
������������������������������� �������������������������������� worse
��������than the saddened countenance -- her innermost artifact.
if the frequent exchange of memory�s swiggling away, scare off vines
that tangle trussed hair. smell of horseradish. black
��milkbog undamning a bitter river's solidarity
��the sound of ghostflutter.
�2005 by Ryan Laks
