July 2, 2010

THE FIRST WEEK AT THE ARTIST’S RETREAT

When I went to
type rain fills the
morning
it came out
pain

You would have liked, you
always saw things
as unfolding (said you
never knew past the
next plane
ticket where

I’ve been living in a house
with paper partitions,
like in Japan, keeping
everyone separate

But I didn’t know that
when I started this poem


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