Eating the Scraps of DawnJen Currin
You take off your powder and come to know me as I am, stairs into water and the sun in your eyes. Among all the criers you comfort me most. You are the only one who takes me as a madman, who understands that my throat thinks for me. October sidles up. We’ve been eating phantom money. And you? Wet haired in your bed. And you? Smoking in the snow. We’ve been up this mountain before, bleeding, thank you for asking. Still I like the buildings and I still hope to make a friend from the encounter before the sky does. I age much. It must seem that I like to look over my shoulder. I’m not so indiscriminate as all that.
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