Saturday, Jan. 24, 2004
as welcoming as it would be
You walk around naked with a strawberry hickie pinned to your waist, smoking my cigarettes, leaving welts on my lips in my sleep, not caring that I am so very quiet.
Maybe you think we have this entire summer vacation to marker lines in red and memorize all the different roadways to the beach? As I count how many running footsteps there are to the door, wishing I could rig a megaphone in the space between a your ribs, and hire a tired gang of stuck-up linguists; unshaven but solicitous to translate the spate.
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The Comb Tree42.316833,-72.656553
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