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Conversation Ending With Goodbye

Marika Staff


What is wrong.

My ear is ringing.
High-pitched, foggy, all is wiped out
to my left
like Nagasaki—

You're dramatic, such
a dramatic person.

You don't know. My ear,
it stopped.

So what then?

Now
I want lunch
I think I'll go get some.

Can I come?

Yes.

Your hair looks like a lake
this morning.

It is not morning, we have just
determined
it is time for lunch.

But thanks. Now say something
else, it's awkward.

I had sex last night.

You're angry.

Yes but
so are you.
I almost had sex last night.

I'm entirely fine.
Why almost?

You have to think about walking as if on stilts.

Precarious?

Exactly.
Plus he put his tongue in my ear.

What about food?
What about books?
What does he read?

He can recite Whitman.
I don't know how much.

I think chili.

Perfect.
Mimics your mood.

Is that so. I only
half-mean it.
The reason isn't you.

You are entirely opaque.

Once you wrote something
like: Give me your sour—

How do you know that?

But you pass backwards
behind—
you don't know
the eyes.

Whose? Yours?
Of course I do they're flannel and open like a wine glass.

Goddamn,
you drain me.

And you, me.

Let me eat this in the sun.

Look at all these people
with opinions,
with eyes, all
in poverty.

What about me was sour?

Your skin.
Your smell.

Oh.
You can't have it
I'm not sorry.
Give me a hug I want a hug.

The sun is hot I'm going back.
That blue suits you.
Adieu.

 


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