Monday, December 17, 2012


your young face 
my point of departure,
the line
I follow down
almost to regret

laying time 
on your body, motionless
in sleep
I'm always happy to wake
you, my present

late wintery day… 
your whining 
doesn’t sound like you
but like a voice
living inside other voices

I mold you             
but you choose your own dream,
then shatter . . .
if we only knew
the answer

I am torn                              
between you and your eyes.
A monologue:
Does one divided by nothing
equal infinity? 

Published in Aha Anthology, 2012

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