A not bad song plays and gets better
as I imagine I am in love
and letting my hands rub one another,
in humid, unaware distraction
rather than because I just finished an infrequently
delivered thread of affirmed life
in a script beleaguered so by self consciousness
as to become my mother's own and cramp my unused bones.
I make them twist and pay for their misattendance.
Aug 25, 2008
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