die
in the cab
I won't take
responsibility for it..
.I didn't
specifically ask
you to come back to me...
.well...I may have implied
there was an open door...or a key under the mat....
yes...there's you in me and me in you and it all spills over the edges of the pan
and
.puffs up like a popover gone mad.......
I have your extra glasses, both pairs....sometimes I wear them and look at ourselves in the mirror
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
for Robert.....so very afar and oblique