My My-nessMolly Tenenbaum
Share? I can, my strings with others if in tune. Paperbacks, no problem. Heart, I hope, though like the brain, just ten-percent used. Won't, for example, my session with sloppy bass, my sandwich with hornets, my house with TV. My time. On your life, my best cup. Tra-la-la, earplugs wherever I go. Not my afternoon dream, gold in the cottage, before the return of the bears. "All this could be yours," says the wooer, hand-feeding me herb-roasted dinner. "It already is," my answer. One cut, the other choose— I still want the slice with more nuts. I always pick the baby chair—so close to the ground, plus I like how it squeezes my butt.
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