<mcdaniel's "absence"> 2006-08-23.6:22 p.m. Absence Jeffrey McDaniel On the scales of desire, your absence weighs more than someone else�s presence, so I say no thanks to the woman who throws her girdle at my feet, as I drop a postcard in the mailbox and watch it throb like a blue heart in the dark. Your eyes are so green � one of your parents must be part traffic light. We�re both self-centered, but the world revolves around us at the same speed. Last night I tossed and turned inside a thundercloud. This morning my sheets were covered in pollen. I remember the long division of Saturday�s pomegranate, a thousand nebulae in your hair, as soldiers marched by, dragging big army bags filled with water balloons, and we passed a lit match, back and forth, between our lips, under an oak tree I had absolutely nothing to do with. back /& forth /& frosting names are often sad