Minimalist Gossip Magazine Cover (49).pdf (23) - Flipbook - Page 34
Her eyelids tightly shuttered
beneath them was the darkness
of a forest still and deep
her mind was racing wildly
for something she’s forgotten
her breath was like a meadow
where the deer and the antelope sleep
When I turned back from the window
I wondered where she went to
the room was bare, her lair was cold
she’d vanished in thin air
without further hesitation
I put on my soft shoes
to follow the trail of snoring
that led me down the stairs
I’ll follow it to China
I’ll look up her genealogy
between her and Outer Mongolia
there’s a saxophone somewhere
but the Anglos and the Saxons
the woodwinds and percussion
the Hussars and the Huguenots
the Zombies and the tomboys
spark simultaneous combustion
when they find out She’s Not There
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