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After Reading G's Journal
by David Matthews

Black is her color

Zero her number

Pain pledged its sacrament

Held tight her pale hand

Mute beauty descended

Skeletal as dawn

Blood, sex, speed

What algebras of need

Geometries of desire

Equations of loss

Inhabit her skull?

Art her currency

Pain her capital

As if embracing

A vandalism of the soul

A music none may hear

Far from sunlight

A catechism of silence



- How I would give over to her

Baubles, wigs, shiny things

Hieroglyphs, Canadian pennies

Secret imaginings . . .

For I recall too well the season

When I declared all hope deceit

Denied the possibility of love

Made my heart an empty coffin

Choked on all laughter

Even now cannot deny the truth of that vision

Still would embrace life

Improbable as Miami snow falling cold upon your lips

How I would touch her

My fingers burning like an angel waiting to be born

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