Monday, 31 December 2012

can i have your telephone number

so we all put on garments
& danced into a night
rain-lashed / &
something geometrical
about our lives as compared to souvenirs.

that was in the 1900s,
dark mud
brilliantly lit
by blind panic. said fuck i’m cold

yet it was a beautiful winter coat
& murderers adored you
your fingernails twinkling like stars
inevitably the same. 
events occurred 

a few years later. we all grew wings
& floated over the streets of a city
populated by violinists & butchers.
i kept calling you by name
which was sort of your name but not exactly. now

i’m listening to the wind bite its own ears in the trees
a few birds chirrup
the walls of the house creak
rain falls through a hole in my head.
but it was a magical time, wasn’t it.

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