April 24, 2010
Clean, dirty-brown eyes gnaw at me like salt at a wound and
I can’t tell whether I’m looking at or away from them.
Is there even a difference at this point?
A berry chew-smack-blow-pop turns my head and
I ask the one person to whom I never give.
In this room I’m always driving backwards on a freeway,
Rear window flooded with baggage.
She’s got nothing left to give me.

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