i never came to you in france
in the night or day of france
i could not feed myself to you
your dream as it draped on a final calendar,
threatening me with disappearance
until it lay on its deathbed.
your hunger groping around,
claiming black and white
dismissing and blurring.
now you deliver me more words
you are full of quickness
to claim you have found something to eat
but you cannot leave
a world behind you do not feel, let alone see
you cannot leave what you have not tried to love.
i am not to be left behind.
i refuse to receive your rotting flowers
of goodbye poetry i am not part of the world your turn around on
as you turn around you realize youre back
you never left.
you dont understand me?
your words have not extended your territory of possibility
they are closed windows
a view behind glass, a fantastic landscape within a frame
i see you performing an exhibit
at a museum in your heart motioning out your freedom,
believing in it so well
calling it india, calling it love, calling it
the perfect man, one crazy enough, with the same dream
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