Corey Hovanec
	those twins in the field, with the black curly hair, were ours you prayed for High Good, and said 'i need water' held the pendulum over pictures and swung it to scatter me - east i never wanted Jersey but you had sweeter names turned on a table as you swore to yourself alone i'd never draw tight enough toward you these poems as a beacon to the dumb (thats you) you dared to blame me for the six months and said i shouldnt have come elegy for the hallux that you wrapped in Theta around my heel i wanted presence, not the physical body if i had a dime for every time you slept after the chore honey what about the past life now you explain that we were sisters but i say those twins were ours i loved your nose as is but you were always already in the next room so now i've got this minute elastic and long as i need it a violent condescening in which you traced a finger against what you trusted as torn the last meal: a shared sloppy joe i ate two thirds later on, you got stoned new years eve and went barefoot in snow i cleaned out my bag of reciepts the dates and times of purchases all bad dreams read Antigone alone and out loud in the last American diner and laughed at the irony of Basquiat and your crazy cunt - so much Greek smoked fourteen packs of cigarettes, some in a blizzard, as a rebellion against what? its your home now even if i weatherproofed it and my first cha-cha slide without you was like dancing in mud o monomania, put my body on the eccyclema and send the white sheet up katie i'm almost done with these letters out loud 02.23.06

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