Thursday, September 16, 2010

All the choice parts were wrapped in butcher paper.
I'd expected newsprint, so that was a nice disguise.
We pretended while we were eating that we were not.
I trust no one more than I trust the man who cuts
my flesh. One time, dancing in a swing hall, one
of my partners told me I didn't know California from
Harlem. The thing about others is how they derive
flaw from data, wallflower or no. Nicer to be tabled
with you, feigning consumption of not a thing, raw.

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