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“Things I couldn’t tell you then”

“Things I couldn’t tell you then”

If you’ve eaten once-
suddenly, its as if you’ve eaten
everything.
All the forms
confronted with a great swallow.

The self
manufacturing pills
then pouring itself into the wall.
My body (wise ass) mentor
hates glitter left on train seats
by sticky half smelling women
on the run from bars
at the end of the night,
being forced to take some part of them
home with me.

It makes me begin to hate Proust,
watching two male lovers
court each other discretely
in the street below
and acting as if the biggest thing on his mind
(even then) is the vigilant watch
for the sticky semen some insect will bring
to impregnate the fertile flowers of France.

When a room is unheated
everything seems dire,
strained.
But I still think that if you are in that tree
while telling me you are stuck in traffic
on the L.I.E.,
you should just come down now.

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