When your muse leaves you
for someone more exotic; when
those dark eyes close, those blue
eyes turn away; whenyour passion erodes to unnoticed
dust on cluttered shelves, skin
thick and untouched, unbrushed
hair tangled beneathstiff shoulders — resort to bugles,
to firecrackers and sharpened
pins. Wake up your own ears.
Slap your own face.Prick your own flesh. Watch your
own eyes in the mirror. Those
dark eyes, those blue eyes. Those
bold stranger’s eyes.
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