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19 Like Angels Like angels, we live many lives at once, hovering over one with house plans, one unrequited, another so quiet you have to turn the music up so you can’t hear yourself think. It’s inevitable, then, turning the corner someone hideous is likely, someone bound to be unhappy, someone whose fault you are. Someone wedded to the idea, OnceYou Knew Me. Once, just possibly, a chord was struck. I remember the top down: it was breezy there, when sitting in your body was like being glued to it. But I don’t want to be accessible, I don’t want to read other people’s minds, don’t want their tiny projection screens pulled by ropes and pulleys, dropped into my bedroom to illuminate the naked body as it squirms with pain and pleasure. In the interim it’s all titillate and torment, stir and gyrate, sliding toward a smudge on the sketchpad until the aftermath meanders under the hotel window, on the block that’s nothing but a storefront boarded up inside my head, where I’m still married to the funeral’s still inside me, 20 wearing black shoes and a silk tie, rubbing me the wrong way, on a corner where we could almost love the blankness that’s never mind to the avenue.We should recall whose lips last touched the glass. Should, should, should. Not what we whisper when we want her. ...

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