Wednesday, April 2, 2008

Instances of Abbreviation and Joy - R. Rosier

Perhaps you are too 1234 for me.

Perhaps  I treat you like 5678.

Either way
you have been unified.
Uniformed, with the intricacy your

mother first dressed you with, with a tear rolling down her foundation cheek, and her hair curling with beads of salty sweat. Black and stuck in locks. Her heart racing and her shaking hands outstretched.

This is how you became.

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