Wednesday, March 17, 2010

I look for the one who
while everyone else laughs
is scorched by the movie,

for the Eskimo on summer
sidewalks who was pushed
like a scarecrow of hailstones
out of the dinner party,

for that girl knitting condoms
of seaweed's darkest green
for her genderless friends,

I seek those whose stomachs
can never be acidic enough,
whose ulcers come to be
small bubbles on the multiverse's
bulging moldsilverblue clusters,

I look for those to whom
this message is already a waste
of time because it can't find them.

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