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Tuesday, September 30, 2003

there's no more poetry
it just stopped -

sometimes when you smile,
push the hair away from my face
and tell me I'm a dumb
to not see

an awareness - a knowing
that this is how it feels
to be happy - makes me think
a poem might be just
around the corner
or when your driving,
doing Martin O'Neil
talking strategies - breathing
football - sometimes then, a
poem teases me,
but never lets me catch it.

once when we fucked in your hallway
and I could still taste the miles on you,
the plane - the bus - the car and the aftersun
mingling with the excitement
( absence makes the crotch yearn fonder )
a poem wrote itself inside my head

right at the moment the heel of my left
boot scraped down your calf
a sonnet screamed out my name
but then we slept - and fucked -
and slept and I lost it

too tired to chase it
I watched it melt and
harden against the pink linen
sheet. there's no more poetry.

© sc. sept.03



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