Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Most days I want to leave

A morning: wandering through churches--
light, through Chagall’s stained glass
tinting your face different shades
of adoration. There is a red scene
coming, blush.

An afternoon: The Bride
Stripped Bare
by Her Bachelors,
Even. Try to look away.
That reaction, what is it?
Tell me more.

Twenty dollars: we’re poets
baby, your money is worthless.

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