Her eyes were mechanical.
They examined.
Her emotions were postures and postulates
of a certain kind of human.

Her dress was a post-modern mash
of Hepburn (the one with a K)
and Hepburn (the one with an A).
The difference?
Shoulder pads and makeup.

I wish I knew her programming
so I could redirect her thoughts
to the bitter fruit
which is my loneliness
playfully awaiting like a tiger in a cave.

04/05/2014

Posted on 04/05/2014
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