Published in Everyone's a fucking poet! 1995
I could talk all day about deconstruction but it wouldn't change that whisper of yours the invisible language of a discourse in solitude diatribe in tongues ripping from our mouths like the couple next door the ones who study barefoot then argue about the nature of cold you remember we used to hear them shouting about the aesthetics of pain through the brick wall Could we be that way? I wasn't prepared to answer Then you told me what love was like : infinite with the noise of a jackhammer
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