In difference


I could love you 

for what I’m not 

I don’t pretend to know 

what that is 


but I’ve rubbed my face

in its consequences 

and I’m crazy 

for its smell 


I’ve traced the 

cake trail back 

to a very

arrogant kid 



lost at a point 

where extra hands

could have tied up threads


It’s gotten a bit late

the ingenues have all left

the idiot savants on the train

pick me out everywhere

◄ Dividing The Bed

The Quality of Our Solitude ►


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