Friday, February 5, 2010


Sweaty intimacy

and swine flu


surround us,

we are shuddering

to a stop.

We fell in

at Kenmore,

fell out

by South Station.

Tonight, we illuminate


The automated voice

knows everything,

so much more

than the wasteland

of multicolored letters

all screaming for Boston.

I said,

I better go home now.

You said,

I’ll call you later.

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