Dan Sicoli
THE GIRL WHO LOVES ME
pregnant
she is stoned again
looking down subway holes
he'll never rise from
she is learning
the shine on her boots
the strands of her hair
her voice's gravel
that in inner circles
she would rather
be locked away
and talk a whole night
of silent words
NOW ONLY ONE THING REMAINS
she wakes
stealing lines off pop music
a cold shiver shakes night residue
smoke bleeds the mirror
as she splashes hot
on the street
she plays out lyrics
a thousand blind cars scurry
no one sees her lips move
at the office a thousand gift-wrapped eyes
all prey for monday welcome wagon
she chokes on office top forty
as coffee laughs a sadistic singe
and her phone becomes
a dripping faucet
LENT
cradling midnight
she holds it hostage
pressing eyes
submit to darkness
she rolls restlessly cramming blackness in
through sheer screens of summer
a distant phone rings for the end of time
this room holds
no radio
no television
outside a sliver of a vulture moon
hovers the elms
waiting her out through the nursing heat
Dan Sicoli
© 1996
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