Friday, April 13, 2007

dear m,

last night imagined you
naked clothed in bed (had music for the scene)

and we/and we/were we/that intersection
between March robin and September frost


the lies I followed/music that led nowhere
in the alleys of rooms/open/closed doors


your voice creating positions on a chess board
like twenty-four to the twenty-forth power


crumbles the way it does on water
because nothing at that time is political

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