Nostalgia, you
dirty word you
Dragged through
one year of
memories like
broken radiators(
bugging like br
oken radiators
& singing ghastly
sounds like brok
en radiators)
has where all the
time gone? o my!—stuck
to one centre
revolving
around the
sun.
if I could see you
now in my periphery,
how startled would
the history be
even
if
its
sides were
painted in Viennese
neon light backstreets?
& I will take time to
me hold close
that is us was
me for you,
sinking—
not you for me
or us for we;
its time now
when
caught on these
streets,
I mourn,
tracing our
year-old feet.
Wednesday, March 12
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