Sean Cole


Something weird came up and left some forks
on my doorstep with a knife that read
"Hey idiot, remember?  You loaned me
these last year, remember?  Love!"  Love!  Last year,

Something weird handed me, unlit,
a medicine candle for our blackout
and I've never lit it, which is weird.

Something wierd lives above me, I can hear her
shoo her cat from the pan I also loaned her.
It's weird what transpires between us.
It was three months ago something weird
sat on my sofa, saying
"army" with her lonely tenor voice, we set
the clicker for Victor Borge, ended up
with Deepak Chopra, weird.  I hugged

something weird right before coming down here to write
this down.  Since it's weird to hug her
as much as I can, I do.  I find I keep
tapping her shoulders like a homeroom
drummer, pat her face, it takes hours 
to say "so long" to each other.

Two weeks ago, something weird
waned from the heat she'd apparently 
been experiencing.  Started seeing
someone!  Someone weird!  I met him!
It was weird the way this was days after

my finding someone to be privvy to the other
reasons for my body, weird the way I didn't cave
in at the vision of the kiss they gave 
each other, weird the congratulations we slapped
into each other's hands.  Some moments

ago, something weird came up to me and said
"remember" before I left her
apartment to come down here to write this
down.  Well, she didn't say it.  So was it 
"remember?" or "Remember!"  I'm not sure. 
She locked onto my shoulder with her
lashes before I left.  She wrapped

something slick around my eyeballs, handed me 
something close, and said
something that sounded like,
"I left your forks." 

Audio of Duplex by Sean Cole

Boston 1999 Index