imagine: aquiver

a folding knife
for his pocket

he kept it sharp



he threw it
back first

he threw it
point outwards

he threw
while he was moving

his target
a close pattern
of small slits
from practice hours

and practice hours

a folding knife
in his hand

a stabbing motion
into the air
before him
as he imagines a quick …

like a showdown
in a Mexican movie

take that

he imagines
his knife



Poem #330 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

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