you can't have mary
mary is a salamander
holding in her mouth a cherry
waiting for her train to come and
carry her away to boston.
mary is a wife to those who
men who never have been married;
but until they die these men will
not lay eyes upon her tiny,
timid form, for she is hiding.
mary is the priest of monkeys,
windows, trees and shards of water.
mary walks without a coat on,
cheering on the chilly breeze that
teases like an icy feather.
mary says she doesn't hate you.
mary throws her tape recorder
out the second story window,
followed by her old cassettes of
ambient noise from different cities.
mary isn't gone quite yet.