FRIDAY NIGHT
it goes like this:
the beginning of one word
pasted upon the ending of another
you are breathing
in staccato
I am not
breathing
but don't listen to that
don't wear a frown on your face
I've memorized smiles
you wore in happier times
then you were two years old
six
eight
you weren't a thousand miles away
disembodied and disengaged
(save for the thread of this
slender cellular connection)
I lay the phone down
circle it
pick it back up
a hive breaks out on my nose
nothing flows
for us to go with
but stops starts
stops again
I don't say
hello
do I know you? or
can we hang up now?
I think if I just
wait long enough
one of us will change
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photography/artworks by elaine thomas
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