It’s the great tragedy – just great. Days rolled into little balls with small lights inside them.

He says: My first kiss felt like an ave maria. I call anything that has happened ‘once.’

& we ditty ditty ditty
do we do do do


Just look at us, headless as usual, sitting around a large oak table. I’m leaning into it, elbows trembling, and you – what are you going to do?

Whisper, Oedipus.

It’s this familiar city, this old voice, the arms around my waist and I want to sneak out.


I see you – your face falling into your eyes. And in between your index and middle fingers: The Smallest Camera Ever. When we say ‘that’s beautiful, we mean ‘I’m sick with it.’ The dogs in us roll over. The dogs, too small to be our babies,  too unpaid; they lay around the world.


It’s white. Never-the-bride, Andy-Warhol, white. Half-white, gagged with white. We drink, trash it, take it our of the trash and throw it away again. We just get on with it.


Trees smudge the windshield to no avail – they are simply taking place.

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