Wednesday, December 7, 2011


When you talk about women
the words inflate themselves to suit your taste
for every curve a wider word
for every woman, a mile
a light-year for them all.

When you talk about me
they deflate themselves to points
three little dots
and nothing before or after
Lost in ellipses?
after a comma, perhaps
(the pregnant pause, the infertile language
the inadequate expression,
the anxious impression,
the layman’s nothing, nothing, nothing?)

Perchance, a full-stop…

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