in thick, high streaming tones, there is a voice and serene
you would know her in here, with thick black hair
throwing it over her shoulder and owl eyes shining, frilled by batwings
i know her, too
she does enough total seizure to the dance
what happens downstairs
sifting little particles through the volume of words
that are shouldered on this floor
even if you know her, and she shows a hundred patterns to me;
i can still not tell
and i can still not tell anything to you about her pacing ,
because of the density
of whatever complicated tangle is presented
by threes, cross-hatched color flock
my own night resigned to being what i have become
no room for self-improve
forever no challenge wrought by their tongues
i beg you
i beg you
i beg you
this is a lamp
in the front room
that is a chair
where, if you were sitting still,
i would suggest a movement to some kind of walking embrace
with any chance, taken, to get you alone
it figures, what whole imprint you have made, drawn a line
down my back and skin
on any stitch of me that you have seen
accounted for everything i am proud of
and found something more in me
that i had forgotten
dear
dear
dear
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