Wednesday, April 06, 2005


No one knew how.
But then the theater of cruelty
became banal. Bad poetry
hinted that Art would remain
faithful, and that's really
the point, isn't it?
In another time, malls and highways
never promised to change.
I said "I hate you" to everything,
even when it was true. But then,
all those years, it escaped me.
My enemies moved on to Marat.
I couldn't make it through the first
many words. And I forget the author's
picture, forget her eyes, the stare
that swore it knew nothing.


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