Tuesday, April 27, 2010


the tar in the parking lot
thick as coal
overstuffed dumpster of clawfoot chair legs
the police
empty it with gloves
and poke with batons
the scene is under surveillance

i am not sure
how i got here
but there is yellow crime tape
enough to make a fetish dress, a ruffled skirt
friendly voices, coffee mugs
notes and photographs scratch and click.

i reach my hand into the masking tape outline
prong of parking spot paint
intersecting with where eyes could have been
the tape is there
the body gone
clutching a badge, i receive a call
evidence back at the station
i have a hunch.

i wake up with the question
where are you, where are you
i felt so close to finding out
right before the dream ended.

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