Par Avion [ 22.06.2008 – Paris ]T.A. Noonan
Pretend my new bracelet is 16 rubber-strung solstices, not glass. Pretend it is a series of elbows —— yours, or perhaps those of the model who lit my morning cigarette. (She was not as bony as you.) Pretend that toddlers never piss in Metro corridors, that pollen shimmers & hearts litter the streets. I’m lost in a vendor’s pocket.
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