03.02.2004
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It’s Monday. Let’s go to Paris. My tongue Hands and Hair are Dying for Paris. Spread my Hands and Hair On the Bed Spread Me nearly Flat– Like a Map of the Bed (You tourist). Monsieur Flat– terer. Hand me the fleur. & Do Take that tour of yours to the Ground. My dumb tongue. [...]
Tagged as:
For Matt,
Love Poems,
NP,
Pantouns
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11.20.2003
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The thing about the telephone is a simple thing. It rings and it doesn’t ring. It says no. It says no as long as you look at it. It looks longer than it is from the jack to the dial. So you dial his number. The bone of the [...]
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