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October 12, 2011

when particulars are forgotten

we are forced to listen to a  pantomime of silence

pursed lips and arched eyebrows

reveal the certainty of symbols

of moments purified through a crucible


she bore your life in her stomach

you watched the daily growth of a mountain

then one day a landslide capitulated

eyes lost their irises

vision was either free-floating or inwards

“Modigliani- painter and Jew” was your calling card

the women swooned

what else could they do?

out of pubic hair you made Venus De Milos

the lice , high on hashish




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