interlude
i told her I didn’t eat the roses;
I told her I didn’t eat the coffee;
I told her I didn’t eat the cat;
I told her I didn’t eat the tires off the car
but nevertheless, the woman
with the tulip cup had soft lips;
soft lips;
I remember them,
driving
Interstate 10,
but this is the future;
i blink.
Thor coughs.
It could be any time.
he sees me
wants something
I could never convey–
i wave at the confectioner
and his chocolates
on the corner;
saying, give me something for Imelda,
who loves me
and expects me
in the desert
at the doorstep
of a white house,
and I remember them,
driving
Eye 10,
but this is the future;
soft lips;
soft words.
We said: when will the next war come?
and I remember them,
driving;
and, opening the door,
the woman with the tulip cup,
opening, with the soft lips,
but, that’s the future . . .
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