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65. June 6, 2010 (this past tues.)

My cat knows to crawl inside the Corona 12-pack
box on the floor, flee to the frigidaire boudoir
when the men with toolbelts trundle upstairs.

i field a phone interview, palms sticking to diner
kitchen table. Professional linoleum, salty grip
on my fountain pen. Can you tell me something

about your most recent independent project?
This virtual
workshop i'm building the infrastructure of-- a rabbit attic
to play dress-up, empty long-locked trunks, find new ears

to better tell our twice-told tales. The haunted hole--
a crawl space for canned prose and jams, we'll spread
something sweet to read on toast, marmalade our way

out of cliché. And when i cut open the brown box
of high school handouts, manuscript of my first
virginal memoir? i decide my cat has the right idea.

Leave her to gnaw on the packing tape, and i crawl
inside the Corona box, squeeze a lime onto my sternum.

week10: 1
week9: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6
archived on poetesss.tumblr: week1 - week2 - week3 - week4 - week5 - week6 - week7 - week8
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