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December 29, 2012


I love you.
As much as gravity.
And reason.
And symmetry will allow.
I love you now.
In a perfect time between two points.
I did then and I do now and I don’t know.

Let Angels and Daemons sing and war.
Let the Angels kiss your name.
Let the Daemons daub your door.
I would never feel ashamed.
Of the name you carried.
Or the hearths you crossed.

You are my twisted stomach every Saturday night.
Dancing hideously about a totem.
Whored and tired.
Your guts hanging out the back of your dress.
And no one knows that I know you.
So I run with that barroom cackle.
And perhaps I laugh a little too loud.
So I smoke a cigarette and muster what I’m told I got.

I see you tumble up and into grace.
Redressed and regarded.
Stripped of all your glorious tattoo ink.
Bliss borne.
Unbroken and unburied.
I see shadows drain from your feet to your head.
Drawn from you like long strips of black cobweb.


From → Poetry

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