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Circa 1988 · Graphite on Paper · Ithaca, New York

(I jack the sewers by day)

Miles north in a Chicago suburb
A husband discards a kleenex blotted
With satin stick

(she has a lot of practice)

Lies still and detaches
Reliving the caravansaries of our foreplay
(everywhere with me at once)

The sweat of schrodinger’s cat unglues
And re-atomizes down jet docking ramps

(tasting of waste in a shitproof suit)
Wings cartwheeling across the runway

Blocks west beneath a taxibus
I rub my face in a single needle of sunlight
Dripping through a manhole cover

(I tread above the sewer in the moonlight)

Stained in sex oils tired against gideon’s bible
Hands you a camisole just like the one
I handed you

(neatly folded in the circus carryall)

As your recoil goes unnoticed and he beaches
Like a whale on your navel and it takes
All you have

Poem: While We Were Away
© 2006 Thomas Yarbrough

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