Monday, April 21, 2008

but don't blame it on Edison

there is no electricity just a lantern on the table
and her hands are folded one on top the other like blades of grass
and she turns to me twice, once halfway, stops, and looks again,
she turns to me twice, looking at me through the window,
the window has no glass in it and there is no electricity
and her hands aren’t like blades of grass, there is a lantern on the table
and she turns to me twice, her hands
are crossed like cutlery, scissored and shining, and she turns to me twice
looking through the window with no glass, her hands scissored and
she turns to me twice, just a lantern on the table, and there
is no electricity.



originall published in Alligator Stew, vol. 1, #1.

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