WEBVTT

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Skipped the next one
there, "Fernand Khnopff."

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Now go to page 5.

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Whenever any relationship
between two people breaks up,

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there's always a parceling out--

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the portioning out of
fault. As you can see,

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this poem is about
my fault here.

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This is why the relationship
could no longer go on.

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I take the blame and
I confess why here.

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And it starts out
where all exhausted

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lovers want to find themselves.

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At 6:00 AM, the clock hands
clothespins of nakedness.

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Is it turn for your shadow to
be the son's birth mark or mine?

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We lie in the
ruins, the pertains

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of all we sought to evade
by touch, avoid by sight.

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Now we argue over
which criteria gravity

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uses to select its victims.

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Why, why weigh the
impact of our caresses

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upon this bed till they fade,
svelte as a thumbs down swan?

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Only the sun rises at random.

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At moot point, we lie.

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The rain wearing black
armbands may pass.

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I dab my smile at
the mournersby.

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I dab my heart at you.

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As for the blame, I'll take it.

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I was naked there where we were.

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I was naked, but my clothes
were stuck in my throat,

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thereby rendering my nakedness
ineffectual or perhaps

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spurious.

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And I would have said
something to save

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the situation at this point.

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I would have whispered
something, Darling.

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I would have whispered
something, Darling.

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But there was this darn zipper
right up against my voice box.

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It's hard to be naked
when your clothes get

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stuck in your throat.

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