Jam in Cirey

All of our conversations turn into pornographies,
I hear you say, behind me;
then we clean them up and sell them to the press.
Then we build, on the backs of women,
our violent pyramid spun about your legs.
Grumbling epiphany! That lady or little girl
whose mouth alone is big enough to keep you
silent, as our third, alone, weeps,
dusting off his ragged jacket he lent you long ago.


~ by Jeremy on March 26, 2013.

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