[Friday, April 27, 2007]
Callused fingertips collect
Callous memories
like beads of blue and pink
lint off an acrylic Norda's sweater.
As if coming to a four-way
at the same time,
we both hesitate as to
whom should speak first.
I don't feel as if I have anything to say.
Trust me though, I long that I did.
So please, I beg of you, speak...
I cannot offer anything to this conversation
but little pieces of lint,
and flakes of dried skin.
-c thomas c-
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