29.04.02 - 10:00 p.m.

hes hovering at the top of every staircase,
inspecting my shoes and haircut. at the other end
of my parents cordless phone in the dark of
their livingroom at night, giving me phobias.
on garbled tapes, labeled by a
sloppy hand and worn from overlistening.
in the scratchy silences between tracks on
the record he gave as a 19th birthday present -
my muse with the shocking voice and
suicidal tendencies, live on the bbc, 1961.
he left me last with kissed wrists, scars
declared finally invisible unless
you really, i mean really really looked.



the brightest stars, easter bunnies.
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the project museum

the revolution will be catalogued

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the library of congress

i used to believe

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