20 January 2010

smooth

maybe i'll head there,
midnight place for strangers--
lie about who holds onto who,
or settles.
ask who put these rings around
my eyes, mine--
birthmarked wood, axed.
bench & a tree who used to go
up in smoke
when i ran my hand across &
the splinters were there to help
pick out the grain,
or tell me where i should sew it.

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