Sunday, April 22, 2007


He found perfection today

at four-fifteen in the afternoon.

There was dust on his desk

precisely where it should have been,

and the pictures on the wall

were hanging

in an impeccably crooked way.

Outside, the SLOW sign

on the telephone pole

was being a proper SLOW sign,

and an old blue car

was old in a wonderful way.

A woman walked by

with a woeful look on her face,

as sad as she could possibly be.

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