Wednesday, April 07, 2010


My art is a cult. I enter
and am tithed, forfeit.
I offer my other life
to history, I disown
my other life-- a harlot,
charlatan. Pale. If it cannot
surround me in a drowning
it is no longer welcome. We
have known each other
and now that ends. I sever
all ties beyond this
house. I should meet
the eye at the window. I
will not, and there it is.

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