Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Grow Selves

my I waiting for
your I
in the place
where you grow me

a forced bulb
in our warm
empty of a house

caught in lightness
they say
you don’t write
the new
sleep your words
in time’s anachronistic

so what if
my I was backward
once, am
the I me not here now?
you show
me a contemporary
show me spit or
casual garbage

I bloom you
in the grown place
now you
then me.

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