Substitutions abundant where ever
a string of three - him, the word, me -
threatens intellectual comradery, intensifies the promises
of flowers, relegates petals into childhood truism.
Never an idealogue, he's clever, I am saturated
by the windowside of my bed, by every drop of caramel sweat,
by layers of shine of canvas; they are equally as wet.
A billion daggers.
A billion dollars.
What differences are these.
When wishes are experiments.
and devotion is disease.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
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