03 August 2010


Paperhanging 8/3

Her eyes are visible            between goldenrod reeds
            little frog’s egg eyes            peeping like millet

You want to draw your hand over her            trace her outlines
            with your nail            draw up nipples wrists

The yellow wallpaper            peeling and falling
            has taken its share of lovers

In its time            the soft flowing lines and women
            sang out to numbers            took their hands

Would you run forever in pale?
            tip-toe at the edge            look into the mouth of sun

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