Sunday, July 4, 2010

Bl. John Cornelius

I kissed the rope

and it burned my mouth.

I look like some kind

of overripe poppy, a red

found elsewhere.

I left your side

and came back to bed

so empty.

Today is a boat

and I’ve forgotten

how to row upstream.

I used to think

I looked better alone.

I’m rethinking

all these rumbling choices.

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