Lorca Lorca

Lorca whispers secrets
to me in dreams
and on t.v.

I can feel the breeze of
his heart
which beats on benches

at Columbia as I sit
under a tree in Oz
I sit naked, my soul! naked!

Naked in
the land of Oz,
and I click my heels,

the slippers
ruby-red, and
I voice her mantra:

“There’s no place like home”
“There’s no place like home”,

then mine,

There’s no place like
being alone.

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