Possession

Cut-out photos, your nose 

glued on my dusty green

schoolbag, the one left

in the cupboard to

rest. ( There was a torn 

letter in the upper chain, 

words glimmer still, or

so I dream, still heady, half-

curious .) 

Eyes encircled using black

dot pens, perforated balls : 

model of an ant's craftmanship- 

scattered in square little 

boxes on a floor smelling

of late summer love. 

Give it to me, I said,

and the face came apart, 

like weak clouds, or weak 

names, or weak sticks 

supporting a painting. Given,

I trembled to hold. Maybe there

was a breeze that evening, shadow

of a howling storm.  

Lips pasted on the other

side of an unread maga-

zine, the only promise

can be your kiss. ( Or, that is

what my interested friend

tells me. You're dead, I

gesture, a lefthand swipe. 

He likes it. The thought of other-sided-

ness, love and darkness, candles

and ghosts, almost arouses

his imagination.)