Wednesday, August 29, 2012

(That woman whose smile suggests the peace I don't have,
In whose lowering of the eyes there's a Dutch landscape
With the female heads wrapped in white linen
And the daily effort of a tidy and tranquil people . . .
That woman who is the ring left on the top of the dresser,
And the ribbon that is caught when the drawer is shut,
A pink ribbon, I don't like the color but I like the ribbon being caught,
As I don't like life but like to feel it . . .

To sleep like a spurned dog on the open road,
Definitively for the rest of the universe,
Run over by every passing vehicle . . .)

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