Friday, August 7


o innocent song:
not yr fault
but pushed I in

(the hips
can no longer listen

) to yr bouncin melody
that, from below,
I ebbed as she slept

or before, without her,
I as listened to
her fragrance unperfumed,

the lamp I fell for fully
with byrne & dance
is all ‘but I’m in love with her’

pitiful correct
yr song
is all her & nothing more—

wave good-bye
talking heads
you swum thru us

as love swum, & happiness swept.

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