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Metonymy, Wyoming (after Philip Seymour Hoffman)

The only way I can see

my sadness clearly is if

he plays me this morning.


He pushes back from a piano,

adlibs a confusing speech

that still entrances the audience—


so we travel to the vast

wilderness in Wyoming

to drink hooch and glue

together a city made of nothing


but words and the way

we say them, in order

to describe each other:


look at that jacket, imagine

in its breast pocket, all

the unopened envelopes

Posted 02/03/14
(Written on 2/3/2014, the day after the actor was found in his apartment)
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