savior
i try to exist, to burn these eyebrows,
edit where you were born, or
how tall are the bones in your arms.
skin is a fur hide, shady dealers
lend me their ears--
a man is there,
he watches with the light on
as you take off your dress,
& this is why he says he loves you.
postcard with a picture of some random
art museum.
i hate when i know these things.
16 April 2010
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