poem: picture of someone else, told like this

did you

look in the portrait today?

she shudders and pulls


she said (bitterly/violently/desperately)


she said i am damned to hell and back

she said it comes out in the books like blood

from a knife; disconnected, but members

of the same party, all the same.


did you

go out

tonight or last night or yesterday?

she said

three o’clock found me at the edge of the world,

in winter, with trees like old dark moss

under the sky.

seven o’clock found me at a murder,

the cutting thing in my hand, and then

the sky was drooling

pink sleeting snow.


she said: NO


i did not look at the portrait

i do not need to


it comes out in nature and the library. it comes out all the same,

she said.

but even so;

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