some call me Kate the curst.

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I imagine in some past life we took ourselves seriously.
that our laughter was smooth,

not this austere baying that shakes us like a death rattle –

it doesn’t hurt, just looks like shit

as we hack out the sound of our pleasure.

you pretend to be

Clark Gable playing Rhett Butler;

Humphrey Bogart masquerading as Rick Blaine.

damning me to remember, “we’ll always have Paris.”

you don’t really smile -
but sometimes your lips
curl like ribbon after scissors are dragged across it
invariably hinting at self-depreciation.
showcasing you can laugh at anything
because up our sleeves aren’t aces -
merely the king and queen of diamond;
we don’t mind betting we'll lose.

in that past life, you’d be without your sardonic frame;

those barbed edges around your apathetic manner.
yes, I can imagine we took ourselves seriously then,
loved without ragged hysteria enabling us –
then, never loving each other.

 

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Comments

on 10/16/09 at 07:57 AM

Thanks! I appreciate the comment - it's always nice to know when someone enjoys something you've written.

on 10/15/09 at 01:11 PM

Big fan of the poem, the imagery is wonderful, and the theme is perfectly carried through.

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