September 16, 2010

re: txt poem

By inclination restless and beING
I never went in for dialogues or empathy
When I say There are wolves
at the door I cannot prayortell

If dreams come at all they’re cubist
Maladies reveal themselves to me in
our bodies which revel in that
which can be done To them or in

When I say I am for exiling the empath
it is with a snarl of regret
for never having held it
except as a banal extension of narcissism

The man stretching beneath a pine is not thinking
about stretching beneath a pine
And why should he be He
is stretching beneath a pine


::say something::

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