harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
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i cannot uncut the wires and circuits fused — the screeches of laughter: lungs abused on the top deck ( where i had leaned my sharp bones on a pink-sleeved poppet's neck.
i might find you here — in the lights, which i tried to imagine scattering like glass as they did some nights, in a tangerine dream of une petite pilule que j'ai avalée pour m'en sortir un peu, tu sais.
( i imagined what hot wet tongues had felt her glittering eyelid — those lovingly licked lashes —
in swallowing a sharp droplet, a rosebud mouth murmured of medication: arms newly scabbed, empty and blackened tears rolled over the machine.
i saw the gap between what i thought and what i said — and knew that it held all worlds in it; i saw in the alcoves how we used to walk back from town in the dark, a sky star-studded, the cemetery, and in another: the great emptiness of a stranger's wandering hand.
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