A Letter in Greasepaint

Over time, the slight tease in the bones/ brought on the hot lights of the banks ./Until torrid rains left smears,/in idle moments, at points in a filigree,/I hear my name in vain./Lost, on a whim,/a certain deafness to sounds, of the clock and the third degree./You ask about phantoms,/as if I was one,/finally gauge me prostrate./In remote parts,our bellies full;/a taste of ether, hard by an image,/a lily and a star./ I follow your orders,/ lost in the works,/they can’t see me,/they see frozen scenes/of the rank and file,/myths of your regime./I saw you on the subway,/climbing the mountain. Bare arms touch,/I spoke about you, lamenting in awe./I am a connoisseur of your agony.

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