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Pulling Shape




Pulling Shape

His room smells of pine and burned dust.
Shavings trapped beneath his nails
in the pattern of his soles.
Ambered butterflies hold the table
smother in folds of black canvas.

His joints, self-styled as his tools.
Cracked and turned by a tin-smith
coaxing willows into briars
grain into flight.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
lurkingwombat
Sep. 25th, 2013 05:38 am (UTC)
That is pretty cool.
Would the last line refer to ducks?
hugs
ciaranbochna
Sep. 25th, 2013 03:09 pm (UTC)
Thank you, and no.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )