Saturday, October 27, 2007

Kay Ryan

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Latents

Just the hints, say
the side ridges of
fingerprints that
don't rule out
innocence; or
the loose approaches
to tightening mazes;
ambiguous, smudgy
places. The dilation
dark absorbs; the
thing we don't
think through
before it happens:
all the early
stations of desire —
the first slight tug
against the string
that threads the
wire that threads
the cable that
guys the bridge
that alien traffic
plies.

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