Sunday, 17 February 2013

a sonnet


everyone is sexy except for Lyapunov
who knows no language
it is dark in the dance hall
because of the dancers outside
& the tiny cuts made to the surface of an eye
one theory says signatures are unendingly substitutable
which agrees with a situation
where she was in love with my sisters
you mustn’t be so cruel as
to misunderstand misunderstanding
as a concept it’s not easy reading a map
when it’s neither dusk nor dawn
snowflakes drift through cuts to their eyes
makes me cry 

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