The girl in a black in sweater
transient palliatives of French syllables
comingling, “My question you slept
alone last night.”
At intervals impossible limining: euphemism, poetry.
Goats and goatherders in clusters and flat,
the red, its implications, an orange,
letters sans serif (another example) you see all the most beautiful things
they are only examples of beauty.
A scarf with the faint smell of chlorine
basements in vestigial layers
there is a multiplicitous polity of grays
and so many conveyances, the chlorine
and the wetness of it.
Can you believe you awoke with your face flushed hot! and the twine still on
bulbing circuitously. Ahead of an imprecise countenance and a wagon stick fence
like Riverside park, rickets and staying
somehow. In a coat with a point and the one hole, loose in the interim
before the swamp. That’s you not
in a collared and buttoned shirt
the collar goes all the way to the top
beneath a haircut a boy his slimness
of earlobes, flapping your glutenic knuckles
brown counter in grains in everything
mellow feathers
ending on an up isn’t easy you know
the girl eating figs from her tips paints her carefully
teeth in all the right places, dismantling repeatedly
the traces of stems, pits, a skin formed over your mouth while you were sleeping
but that’s what’s eating for.
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Posted in Poetry