The formula recurs/in a makeshift laboratory /in the upstairs of harbor hotels. /On a given night /we’re feeling the freeze,/we review our answers/ shut down the lamplight/ask formal questions/ dressed for parade./The sleepwalking choir released from asylums/resurrects as crones and spinsters./They learn to keep to silence./now the gong sounds/because we’re tied up in sacks/full of google eyes/ virgins in flotillas./We wait for inner death./ After centuries spent in sunlight/we must fly closer/ I stand as a statue you kissed./A companion who smiles/ rising from ditches.
All I Wanted(Was In Illinois)
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