Sunday, May 2, 2010

i cannot invent something
something that needs to said
it should already be there,
waiting like a patient virtue
on a plastic chair
in a white hall
that is when i tell it i'm there
then take it by the hand
strumming its knuckles,
kneading its wrist,
whispering my words into its little ear
a confident friendship
is what
truth and my words need
truth as the guide and reluctant teacher
bowing to me
coming to me
waiting for me
my words as the ambivalent leech,
the benefiting party in
a state of commensalism
i take her heart sometimes though
(i really shouldn't)
and place it still beating in a jar
while i type out
electronic symbols
clean of blood
clean of life
clean as white
clean as a lie

can i borrow that painkilling drip of yours?



and i place the needle in my blue vein
running a race in my mind that i know i can't win
i'll type until i've taken all the dope i can from
she'll need it when she comes to.
and i'll need her to see what i can't.

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