2.07.2010

Farewell

Mother-of-pearl perhaps derived from Renoir,
a songbook, a radio station playing the same-o
same O! my blistered units, the curtains are
nonexistent, inducing fields of light. I hear breath
-ing, I sense antlers within the eyes of certain ones.
My dear darling, your mirror shards were free
to fly, flew directly into this heart.

Farewell!
This film has ended with odd harmonic
collisions, the rain fell & fell, your onions peeled
into my eyes, standing amidst the topless sky,
swelled to reflect, to refract. What have I become
but the stars that crackle in the night, a lamenting
smoke, a clogged aorta of a silhouette in reverse
infused by the giant ink-blot of your rubbing me out.




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