192 Which way did you go home down Lexington? Third Avenue? -- My eyelash on your sleeve. Was it the second floor? The third? -- My eyelash on your sleeve. You turned the key. How many turns? -- My eyelash on your sleeve. What number was upon your door? Four? Six? -- My eyelash on your sleeve. What did you listen to? Beethoven? Or your blood that drummed inside of you without The notes -- ahead of time, one week drummed in a minute? What Routine? -- Untying shoes, socks off, and putting slippers on? -- My eyelash on your sleeve. The light turned on, how many watts Were lit inside of you, illuminating how you touched My barelegged wire to shudder from electroshock. -- The bit Of me upon your sleeve. What did you eat and drink? Some juice? Some tea? Was it a muffin, sandwich, salad, granite, fruit? And did you fill this way the hole throughout your clothes, your mood, Your flesh -- the growing hole burnt by my eyelash on your sleeve?







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IRENE CSAR
Confined Verse
Collected Poems

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