Thursday, November 11, 2010

St. Martin of Tours (patron of France, soldiers, and horses)

I was chased ‘till my heart

grew thin. the needles in

my lungs shook like a great pine

over a slumping roof.

with just a little more weight,

the whole thing will crush

my bed, these woven wicker baskets,

the blue bottles lining all the sills.

please come back, curl up in

my ribs. I don’t even remember

what my biggest fears are.

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