in a crowded museum i will find my self in love
or in a dark cinema house empty in its
noonday run, in that stillness before things unreel
before the trailers and the credits roll
a phenomenon in this shady life where
we edge closer ever closer to a sour oblivion
by the telephone that seldom rings
except for robot solicitations or duns
automatically summoning us from torpor
in this dust-ridden room where the window
pane is hot enough to blister the palms
where the paintings stain and sting our eyes
perhaps by then we will fix up the house,
the car, our lives/eliminate the innuendoes
implications and inferences. perhaps
we will become ourselves--unbearably
hot and trembling with pronounced need
groping through generations of wishes
trembling and sincere in our nakedness
perhaps
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