Wednesday, April 06, 2005

feign (draft)

Here, all the girls have small bones,
the smallest, the languor of yellow scarves

and spelling bees. I am trying out the limbs,
the asphalt. The day gives things names and I

hide them beneath my skirt. To be expected,
there are the usual accidents on train tracks,

in third floor bathrooms. Nothing can be assumed.
I was a mouth and the worry came to me.

I was gingered and soft like a pear.

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