4.12.06

Tristia 3.3





Nec caelum patior, nec aquis adsueuimus istis,
terraque nescioquo non placet ipsa modo


Why is this not my writing?
I’m dictating

to my landlady today
too sick to hold a pen

no hospitals up here
no friends to visit

grapes & gossip
I think of you

keep talking to you
even in delirium

(or so they tell me)
if you were here

then I’d get up
to greet you

unless you’re happier
without me?

No -- I know
that’s just not you

I can still make you sad

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