August 27, 2008
Strike a match in space
and watch it blow out.
Your telephone cord stretches only so far
around your waist,
perhaps just to the next
suns over. (old light whispering out, dancing into
leering black holes).
Dial 9-1-1 and you’ll get me on the other
end, lipstick covering the mouthpiece
hold please for inter-galactic calls,
I’ll say, hanging up --
watching you
stutter into space.

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