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There Is No You Are Everywhere

I’m not sure how it got this early or why we needed

to keep the evening in what we would much later

agree was motion. What could grow so marvelous

and where might I’ve met you—only endless want

lay ahead, but we figured we’d earned it. Desire our

birthright, rebate checks clog the mailbox and spill

onto the lobby floor—account for them when

you get home; now run naked at the gulls

all you like, I’m waiting for August right here.

Whatever you say sounds better with your thigh

against mine and caught in the camera-phones

of our undoing. Yes you told me what I need

but Brooklyn’s awfully far to go for something

you don’t even believe; what’s miraculous is that

we ever managed to be specific. What’s tedious:

insufficiently scandalous secrets. We dig up fire

from nearly anywhere but you’re too burnt to burn

or admit we wanted to try what feels almost new.

from The Dance of No Hard FeelingsFind it in the library

Copyright © 2009 Mark Bibbins
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.

Published in Mark Bibbins Poems

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