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Proyecto de poesia y fotografía  

poemas de Jamie L. Edlin   
 
I have the night’s recording.
Mostly we talked about mortality.
How most things are mortal.

The more wine, the funnier
the flamingo perched on the fake golf green.
The more wine, the closer, the more immortal we seemed.

And since we were allotted
a little immortality
we crept to the open door and slipped out of the party.

We suffered unseen down Gordon,
a street which lives on without end,
but I say we suffered because we were bound to.

Well—it was a premonition—all things living
have ends—but ‘til then
we were assuming
all occupiable space in the room.
My mermaid necklace surrendering
on the night stand next to the palm leaf lamp.

I have the night’s recording.
Quite long, with a lot of confused verses.

And I play it, mostly, when it’s dark out,
when alone.

It’s not that it died and now
it’s a limp record dragging. It’s that—like any
mortal thing—it did die and it’s beauty bears repeating.

And if it stops playing, it never was
     
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