Tears in the Symphony

1 August 2015

I feel like a terrible thespian
or maybe a great comedian
playing a retarded character,
like Freddy Benson.

Other-days
I feel like that guy who shot himself
during The Watchmen, like an octopus
in a tank of lobsters. Your lips when

kissed that afternoon, silky, salty and
cold, parted like a cut jellyfish on
an overcast shoreline. Poverty, chastity
obedience, enclosure. I had a dream.

Watching a nun fall off a bicycle on the
banks of the Seine … but it’s like watching
a .gif and after my laughter subsides
I find myself fascinated with the
paralinguistics of the way her ankles bend
as she hits the stair-rail. It’s like Springsteen’s
Dancer in The Dark, you know, up against
yourself, tongue kissing your
shadow with reckless abandon.

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