Tuesday, April 23, 2002


woke up this afternoon
from a nap
and muscles ached,
pressed by hours under wood
chair, desk,
and a pile of hardcover books.
stretched out on closelines,
drawn out by pens
pig intestines
across the pavement.

looked up at the ceilling,
eyes focused a second
on cracks and
out of nowhere
there was your face.

you smirked,
blinked off mascara and
told me i was a fool.


smiled back and reached
out a hand,
wavered in air and mouthed

but then a splash
of lightning wrecked
the room

and you were gone,

left me with myself
and a black doll
under a pile of blankets.

pulled them tight and
thought to myself:
"only eight hours left today."

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