Tuesday, April 19, 2011


The pause in the dialogue.
Promises made of paste.
How did you come to me?
I lied to your face,
which broke open anyway,
slats of neon falling across
features I no longer recall.

It’s the Vacancy sign
that stays with me, its molten
landscape with the current
shorted out.
On a map of dark
topographies, that
burrowed into my loneliness
with its prophecy.

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