Lately, I can think only in yin
In pink and profit
Humanity traffiked through the one way mirror
Of memory,
Honest as a hieroglyph
Or a scale of cyclopses
I always blamed her mouth, a stiletto thin spike of focused light, the little girl perpetually poised
Over the magnifying glass
Or that's the way it seemed
I used to believe in kindness diligently, watched her hands like garderners through wax fruit and
Rubber gloves,
Before that last back handed
Compliment about a lost shoe
I palmed a prism
And never said her name
aloud again
it was highschool
In a closet
Of psychic ties
Too obscure even for a scientist to recognize,
And I swallowed the things she said
eyes and limbs divorcing from
Their logical conclusions
And limped back from love in monochrome
Monday, June 22, 2009
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