Missing Is a Stimulant

　　 by Jeff Clark

　　 a circuit， bled memory

　　 a séance of the veins， a liquid hinge

　　 Deceit， the tones of dreamed sceneries

　　 defaced by a single face

　　 and yet the day itself is more marred

　　 by these traces of fragrance

　　 chances to fathom her absence

　　 or collapse with the sap of plants

　　 and sleep， and demand of a jasmine-scented face

　　 How are you still so fragrant？

　　 An object at a morgue or an organ

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