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Poem for a Blue Page

who would have known the brick the
nostril i ask you cheek-to-cheek my
my, much and much to be this thread to
follow my shatterings but it is…

lovely so lovely aren’t we?  which is
appendix and for enough not
true of forearm handles/hammers. do
not confuse lashes wet for frame of
mind’s eye or these, oh, these

suckings on bone on bone and will
you stick this camera into me and
this cyanosis and this wolf of… of

wandering waiting they are and are
but lock lunge and roll, drop-cover
hold – search for input and string
droppings, hold your tongue.  bled
out we are and i take, take it –

twine of likening or liquid gel around
and around, pushing into the ear but
plush as spittle and poignant pitted
keyboard clickings these hot disks of
meniscus and flaking in fish skin i

drop it under-exposed on back porch
darlings and tune like tender fork
lift this supple raw of bruising sky this

howling detergent bottle and constant
craving for the extension cord or vertical
horizon drippings and nail polish. for you,

when am
i ever?


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