After Being Invited to a Party Which Requires White Gloves, I Reply:

I am on long island sound, wishing

for a sign. A star might appear

and tell me what my bones, or the want

to taste of me, means. The star’s beat,

its blood, mixes with mine without having

to break my own skin open–-

what a relief! Silence,

the horrid wait. I can’t see! I say,

and it says, Be there. Be there. 

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