Thursday, January 29, 2009


Once in Italy
two Romanian men gave me a flower.
They asked me if I slept alone
-Si, si, ma mi piace solo dormire
They smelled of the street
I let the flower die,
It turned black on my desk.

Once I made a skirt out of tulle.
My legs stuck out of it like poles,
my top shrunken.

And I beg,
please, please, please don’t forget me.