caroma sink

the windows and doors of her steamy southern plantation house. A rare draft. The sticky bodies of her slaves.

     The day was pictures.  And no words neither because of the dark.  Lifting companions on the voice of a single finch.  A corporal dissension among the hierarchy club.  Here where we walk subdued and circle, maybe in yes.

[Going down the Mekong.  My favorite river.  The ferry and the cars riding the ferry.  Riding down the Mekong.  The Nile.]