Postcard Written on the Burnt Red Couch
It's true that a ghost might call you on your cell phone,
or speak in the static on your bedside clock radio, "The dusk is lovely,"
that's one thing the radio said, while the call on your cell phone
was such a bad connection you only heard silvery and habit,
you heard rootstock and raven and flock and come, the voice
being whispery, a voice's shade—let's consider the ferocity,
the need to come, as dusk reclines with you on the burnt red couch.
—use root and haven, use finger and mouth and raven and come—
to finish this sentence: "The moon, upon her appearance in the branches
of some half-naked trees . . ." No. Swallow all the sentences.
Say any word you please. Return. Come home.
Love me. I want to write that story.
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