Wednesday, August 25, 2010

we move as a couple-unit
through waiting rooms, jails,
swift bodies of the unknown,
we wipe numbers from the doors
of rooms we enter in our sleep,

suddenly we're walking to breakfast
through a long solid tunnel,

this subway cherishes its own bricks,
the love of motion, love of coal
histories, lipstick on bathroom doors,
low money in eroding corners, this

time-burst doesn't discover, it is outside,
it is not intimate lasers, it isn't required
to turn into plastic, this radio shrieking
is all my body can carry.

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