ten years spent in
light blue rooms with the
vague forms of women always
walking out the door

with this image of children in
barren villages
burning the american flag and
dancing on the graves of crack babies
always hovering at the
edge of my sight

maybe the taste of a stranger’s
pale luminous skin
when the phone rings at three
in the morning and a voice
that i can’t immediately place says
i left him

i love you
and it’s always at a point
where one season is giving way
to the next

where the boyfriend
has been arrested and the
daughter is screaming and the

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