Wednesday, 6 April 2011


Now there is nothing left to imagine.
You have spoken into me and through me,
Draped on my lap.
There are no explanations.
You are the girl who picked up her
passport and pumps and left home.
And me? One night my nose bled
onto the granite and I fell asleep on the wind.

It is not that we compliment each other--
We strike each other out, but only with a certain sadness.

Only with a certain sadness do I watch you
pull me by the elbow; do I become
your tape recorder;

Do I feel (only in my throat)
the lullaby bubbling
"But Sammi, you are beautiful, and
somehow you are mine."

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