Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Soren Kierkegaard



Soren Kierkegaard

A serene elderly couple,
bodies compacted, whittled narrow
by wind through December aspen trees,
rides a rusty-chain swing set.
Against a windowless wall
of an abandoned factory,
a film is projected... a firing squad.
The cobbled ground glitters
with sunlight off colored
bits of bottle glass.

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