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Lament of Paula Cole’s razor the day after the 1998 Grammys

When it was quiet and dark
I’d lay
And wait to feel, drip

Our relationship
To say the least
Was intimate.
It was fraught.
There was, I admit,
Some violence.
There was blood
and bad feelings.
To say the least.

I haunted her reflection,
Once or twice.

I knew she was growing tired of me,
Of our history,
When the blades were changed
For rust 
not dullness.

I knew from the start
It was a bad idea.
People would talk.
People would talk

She had never thanked me before
Never once
Not in the shower, not in liner notes
Not even in bed

One of her ex-boyfriends liked me.
It’s not the same but
It’s something I guess
And when you’re sharp and alone like me
You take what you can get.

He left her.
I would have, too,
If I could.

All that talk
About beauty and nature
And what is natural is beautiful
And bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Who does she think she is
To go up there
To accept that award
To keep her animal nature
In such proximity
With a gown?

They just wanted to hear a song.
Thank your mother, thank god,
Don’t thank me, no-one does.
I guess they take my presence for granted
Until my absence
Made itself known.
Posted 05/01/14
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