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Andrea Sherwood

 
Don't Talk To Strangers 
 

 
 

 
Everyday I talk to a stranger
that looks like you,
your free voice wheeling
like a round of wings.
We cannot agree but whose point is that?
I shrink, walk backwards,
as small as beyond
your reach,
as distance is privacy.
But you're faster than that,
spreading into off limits,
the skin's barrier.
If I touch you would you disappear for me?
But you take more than your share of time,
disconnecting meaning
from context, using words before
they're accessible.

 
 


There never was an original you.
You alternate, so conscientiously
I cannot tell if it is you
or simply the weather.
The sun shivers at the window
like a bone.
 
 
 

 
 
Andrea Sherwood


 
Andrea Sherwood

 
 

J A C K E T  # 8  Contents page 
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