107 places

A DAILY BLOG FROM 2010 to 2014
people in 107 countries have come to this blog : albania / algeria / argentina / armenia / aruba / australia / austria / bahrain / bangladesh / barbados / belarus / belgium / belize / bosnia and herzegovina / brazil / brunei / bulgaria / cambodia / canada / chile / china / colombia / croatia / cyprus / czech republic / denmark / ecuador / egypt / el salvador / england / fiji / finland / france / georgia / germany / ghana / greece / guatemala / honduras / hong kong / hungary / iceland / india / indonesia / iran / iraq / ireland / isle of man / israel / italy / japan / jordan / kazakhstan / kenya / korea / kuwait / latvia / lebanon / liberia / lithuania / luxembourg / macao / macedonia / malaysia / mauritius / mexico / moldova / mongolia / morocco / myanmar / nepal / netherlands / new zealand / nicaragua / nigeria / norway / pakistan / panama / peru / philippines / poland / portugal / puerto rico / qatar / romania / russia / saudi arabia / senegal / serbia / singapore / slovakia / slovenia / south africa / spain / sri lanka / sweden / switzerland / taiwan / thailand / trinidad and tobago / tunisia / turkey / ukraine / united arab emirates / united states of america / venezuela / vietnam

06 January 2011

arc

She is making a big roundness that runs and runs 
like a song she sings when she meets the wind on a swing set which pumps out of the ground like sex that scares so sweet and the little death of it turns everything into something seen and something softly caught and yes, 
she can live whenever she wants to.
Photo: An artist's leaf frottage, Cemetery, New Orleans, Louisiana
Text: Poem 'arc' from the book, Delicate Access, page 68-69

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