Wednesday, October 19, 2011


you did things all day –
you got a legal paper notarized –
paid a bill – exchanged a shirt

that wasn't large enough
for one that was – maneuvered
with not inconsiderable skill
into and out of sexual excitement –

ate a pound of grapes:
none of which is of much interest now.
You go through everything.
You know how.

All you feel is strange.
Survey the range.
Inarticulably queer.
You suppose you're – here.


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