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seattle bars

sometimes I picture you
naked sleeping
and me too
sleeping naked with a blanket of
early morning summertimes
wrapped around
our ankles
a certain level of intimacy
is implied
like God was lying there
between you and  me and that old
leatherbound copy
of Leaves of Grass
like every spirit
of our ancestry
was hiding in the folds of our forgotten
when it was too hot to sleep
I imagined a camera
looking out at us
through the mirrored doors
sometimes I got up
and drank the last bit
of guiness from all the empty bottles
in the kitchen
I used to plan 7-day trips
to Antigua
i never told you about
sometimes I picture you
in bookstores
you have a henry miller beard
and you are writing letters
to me
with a feather quill
sometimes I picture you
in seattle bars
you are laughing
with women who look
nothing like me

28 May 07

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(81 more poems by this author)

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