videos caseros d mujeres miando
caseros sexsi peludastruc
videos caseros con colegialas
mujeres mexicana videos caseros cojiendo
Donna Kane lives in Rolla, BC, a few miles northeast of Dawson Creek. Her poems have been published in magazines and journals across Canada. Her first book of poetry, Somewhere, a Fire, was published by Hagios Press (Regina) in 2004.
Her second book of poetry, Erratic, was published Fall 2007 by Hagios Press.
videos caseros de artistas calientes
videos porno caseros en hoteles de colima gratis›› Latest News
|» Click here for information on the Muskwa-Kechika Camps
videos caseros porno mexicanos gratismp3
videos caserosde chavas bien culonas violadasfilmovi swingera video
Video screens hang like bats
from each classroom ceiling, suspensions of
our fictional dream.
Iím told to look elsewhere, away
from the you of the displays, over the heads
of your face-to-faces, to fix
on the cool of a mechanical eye, then speak
about words that hold each other close.
ver videos caseros de chiquitas en calzonesraised arms cause weak feeling and light headed
videos caseros gratis de mujeres embarazadasme jerking off video
Maybe this isnít anything new,
our voices have always been
representative at best,
every word thatís reached me
as dead as starlight.
And Iíve always had to deal
with my illusionist self, the real
of a ball cap? No more
than an idea of brown
or a squeeze to the skull
by a spandex crown.
Before cell phones or facebook,
before paintings on caves, the world
still reflected on lake tops, our
shadows bruised the snow.
But on some nights itís not clear
what it is Iíve twigged to.
On some nights, when the screens go blank,
I have to remind myself
youíre still there.
When my own image freezes
as if Iíve just molted,
it's hard to keep moving.
When the 8 pm whistle
outside of your classroom
triggers the sensor, bringing
your faces to the main screenís
fore, for an instant
are the train.
On those nights, my grip
on the truth is thin
I continue to believe in your red-striped shirt,
in your voice from the ether
if only to not be
left here alone
with a mosh-pit reverb
or the omniscient sound
of a distant doorbell announcing
all of my words have been wrong.
One night I misdialed a classroom
and for awhile we were, all of us,
silent. We stared at the display with
its empty room, at the air slits cut into
the vacant backs of the plastic chairs,
at the chalkboard that someone
had brushed clean.
No one knew where we were.
It was like our spaceship had landed,
it was a fictional device meant
to surprise us, it was my dog
with a haircut.
Then one of you saw me
on the empty roomís screen.
moving like an astronaut unhooked
from her ship. I watched my body
survey the space.
I was there.
I was here.
I was seeing the future,
the way death comes,
the mind expelled from its body,
for a moment
the body still moving as though nothingís changed.
- Donna Kane