December 27, 2002 | 12:33 p.m.
hex me.

sexton curls her tongue. tonight she is the sole inventor of words. as the shape of 59 sits, now a force in me. there are weights i gladly carry. like wonder whether anyone will ever need to hear my voice, 'cause it means more than comfort, crosses the line and speaks of dire.

i could have a hundred voices steeped in poetry,

and still miss the sound of you.