Tagebücher
        For Eva Hesse

Decadent, glass cells
Like a hive.

Or Eva Hesse, fevering
The electric divine.

I'm going back
To where I came from.

It no longer exists.

Lost like dust
Inside my little America.

In the night
Thieves come by

Carrying filth and disease
Inside their small gold boxes.

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Copyright © 2014 Cynthia Cruz All rights reserved
from West Branch
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission