Thursday, July 23, 2009

Rid of feet, I'll have no meter
no tap dance to me. I'll be like

a clothespin with thighs. Or that
fertility stone, face and extremities

nubbish. I feel as if I'd swim better
although that goes against the logic

of fins. I do know if I ask you to
pour me coffee, to bring it over with

the crossword, I will expect the same
look I have always gotten. Ah, love.

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