The Wedge

The Wedge

The Wedge

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A weekly poem, read by the author.
Nov. 13 1996 3:30 AM

The Wedge

When there were two of us
there was one world

and one moon. When you
died, I was alone

in another world
whose two moons

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of grief and rage
wax and wane

in the starless sky.
By their light,

all I eat becomes
ashes on my tongue.

Now I can't stand
to be touched

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or to see anyone
touching. When I find

lovers, I set
this wedge between them:

love is no use,
though lovers are used;

who seeks to soothe
will only bruise.