the book of clean white pages, a poem of self absorption

How long can you dance in the endzone?	Circular Self Portrait in Green	amanita muscaria	half a page of scribbled lines
"My God," she said, "I'm beautiful."	You make a light in the world and you hope someone can still look up from the dust for long enough to see it	Little burning petals	I will show you fear in a handful of dust
What it is that is not ending	in her other life	the kingdom of now	self absorption
For from dust we were created and to dust we shall return	Some days there are so many words I need all three notebooks	Dream Log: June 2, 2001	And you as well must die, beloved dust,
Prospero's Books	existential	This page intentionally left blank	free
first node	IV. The Scholar of Forms	Drunken words are sober thoughts

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