there’s something magnetic about
runny eye makeup and acrid tongues. you keep pulling
me back into a state of hazy
lights and breathy smoke. our footprints are all over this
old town, crisscrossing with the ancient
paths of lovers who grew up
too late. I still look for
you behind faces of strangers. my
breath never runs out, and your
tape doesn’t either. do you keep the machine on
your desk? don’t you check it? I need to
stop getting high on the idea of you.
frigyes karinthy said that every person on earth
can be connected to everybody
else by no more than six steps. our whole earth is an
interconnected web of
friends. how dreadful it is for our
degree of separation
to go from one to six.