Wednesday 2/07/2007 12:41:00 AM

In the antonym he called his love. The doors barked to let me in. Conjures of raindrops faulted him sharper than I ever could. A million tiny smiles teasing him through the glass. London at dusk parading its pale women in their sundry gowns. Servitude all in the circumstance. The grumpy underground choking closed on so many destinations lost in its throat.

The airport at night. Shimmering of dousing travels. People tossed to where they've gone. Swollen eyelashes thrown from their lids. In a fury of satisfaction so incomplete.

The stench of Burger King and dog piss ringing like a school bell in my head. While we cruised Schiphol for cigarettes. In another world. A quaint old life I saw the world through broken stitches. Greasy trains carried us off to places america wouldn't even let us imagine.

Still confused and loyal to the window dressing we call freedom.

We lied to ourselves and said it was the same. Knowing we had to go back.

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