Thursday, September 15, 2011

I live for you.

The mop at the end of the night is a lot like the curse
Of civility.

Adherent grease lacquers the floor. It's a record.

It's a way of saying,

"I wasn't dishonest; my curse was honest."

My civility you walk upon has left streaks.

And you must at a glance choose and subordinate yourself

To the hour.

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