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Linked Near A Grasp

ISSUE:  Summer 1997

A husband and a wife
have stepped onto a stage to argue.
They’ve held their anger
and explained to the designer
the color of their moods.
Light is there as they need it.
One’s pool is much brighter.
One is closer, but closer
to who? They slice air with words
at first timidly, then air
catches and cuts the balance.
Lights miss. They come together
and shove. They whirl apart.

The formality, the misread sympathy
of the audience begins to become
more important than hostility.
They feel the coordination of their moves.
They curse faster. They part
clearly. Decisions are based on needs
for survival from themselves
not each other. They return
to words like a chorus, like a poem
of particularly tough tempos.
They agree. They show fiercely
how to agree.


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