a poem for today, 3 June 2012
[a letter sorted sonnet of sixteen sentences and its image]
We will add your distinctiveness to our own.
When I'm back I'll cry and have a sleep then.
Where is the tongue when the fingers write.
Can those poor teeth take so much kicking.
Maybe I found it way down here in the mud.
I will demonize it and it will multiply.
Art does not need us, and it never did.
My screen name has more fun than I do.
Our voices are warm and reassuring.
They hover and wait to get you.
Murder is always a mistake.
I'm glad I had an abortion.
It is the difference.
Only one is silent.
I strung you along.
You might find out.
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