“Off from
the center”
—Sylvia Plath

How truly queer—
Hacking away at the
Quotidian like I used to

As if words were—
The swords of Excalibur
Or an ax in the woods

Expecting words to—
Ring and echo in my
Expectant ears

For years writing—
Like a greedy whore
Doing it for money

Encountering them—
On the road instead
Speaking to me

Words are dry—
And riderless in
The back of the bus

On the ferry—
Crossing the Sound
A gift outta the blue

Indefatigably alien—
Re-establishing their
Own mirror reality

Doubling back at me—
From a blacktop pool
Of fixed stars  

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