Thursday, December 6, 2007

Four Flashes

Four flashes find us mislead. Haircuts locate: bangs (Coney Island) or hat (left for dead in Chicago) or dark (our time overseas.) Can you think of anything past kissing me on the cheek?

If you would turn ninety degrees you'd see the balcony's edge with cherub guarded lamp posts. A river separates the Old City from the Older. Was Florence really that white or was it the high(er) contrast? Were your hands really that cold or am I inserting something borrowed, something blue?

Let's resort to petty crimes to remember the times. I'll take the menu from Dante's cafe if you toss the spilled salt over your shoulder. I wish pockets were made to hold wine but all I can fit is the grapes. Put a penny in the fountain and hope for squarer jaw lines.

I cannot sleep under such painterly skies. This crux feels more honest when you yell into the canals and curse this sinking pit. You say you won't miss me and you won't. Please, let's close the red curtain and pick the blue background and show our veins. Hold still--I don't want to remember you moving.

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