We had
a civil war marriage.
Now
here they all talk as if they wanted to cry...
That’s
the great idea about colonialism:
When
you have to breathe, a lamp descends
from the ceiling,
(Just
before the show.)
This
is your map for being exposed and trapped
however
trite and unusable it may be.
This
is a script for the lists of music.
This
is a design for camping before the snow.
Now if
you held me
memories
would be (just) yellow crumbling tape...
No comments:
Post a Comment