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Smoke

February 2, 2013

twentyfive

I can hear your voice.
But more than that, I taste your voice.
And what a taste for it I’ve caught.
A taste for character, at least.
A taste for how to drown the beast.
A taste for bloody haired paramour.
A taste for panic and peace through war.

Where’d you get that empty face?
I got it at the getting place.
Where’d you get that long embrace?
I won it in the human race.

All your staggering penitence.
All your sodden virtue.
I don’t need to tell you.
The woman you’ve become.
The genesis you’ve turned into.
See your cowering, curious lamb.
Mother, mother, boy and man.
As Isaac looked at Abraham.
Pity, partial, passive eye.
The way God looked upon Sarai.

I never was enough to stop.
The bluff, the love, the invited rot.
Well, drink it down, you fucking cunt.
Sun will rise.
Dog will hunt.

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From → Poetry

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