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The pretty girl’s neighbor drank her beauty like wine Kept her in his breast pocket for slow days when he danced with her silhouette to the tune of the Tennessee waltz Alone behind curtains he imagined her waist fitting into the crux of his arm and she said bring me more than I asked for…
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On the tip of my tongue I hold you. You slip into rosewater words shadows cast behind recall the quiet dust of death’s white lilies. I fall into this undergrowth yearning for doubts to skip away like pebbles over the silvery sea. A moon whispers you have come home but I can’t find you anywhere….
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I could have died on this road alone but for the fever of your touch. You pull crusts off my loneliness and your hand on my wrist lessens this wake I drag behind me like a stillborn. Your transmuted voice whispers my secrets hidden in a bucket of eels where you mock their twice mirrored…
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A remarkable book of poems which explore and chronicle the compelling journey of a mother struggling with bipolar disorder. These poems are held together by awful weight of mental illness, each one reflecting back another facet of a person struggling desperately to remain above water. The poems are about love, even the fractured love you…
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the red startle of duct tape on the edge of your date book is your way of pissing on perfection when broken things claim you like rats from a sewer you bind them to you with stolen orange prayer flags to keep them from floating away with the dish and the spoon til the little…
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Only when I’m quiet and do not speak can I hear your breath slide from parted lips. I want to kiss you the way I used to, pressed against your chest. I’m afraid to steal what is not mine- probably never was. Take bread away from me if you wish, I’m full of yesterday’s laughter….
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In homage to Patrick Lane on his birthday Thanks to Mark Doty The rude dust once snaked under your cap when you were a boy and you didn’t dither or hang back just left a question mark in those railings of boned sky you called home. Now you gaze with fresh gratitude at the small…
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She can’t close her eyes but to see him floating hair caught with ice, anchored to this heart break like a star. Her hands clamp shut silent pleas of ‘if only’s’. To heave up the unforgivable- that one day her heart, would still all songs of charity. Someone else, dear God, someone else. She crouches…
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I stand in the dark shake ice from my hair and walk beneath the moon to a neighbour’s house for matches. Snow up to the top of my thighs, each gunshot footstep, scatters owls through the black silk night. I hear the deer snapping fallen branches, their faces emerge like knots from a pine wall….
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I walk a fine line for the thrill of it. I gag for the danger of you. You push into my arms, metal to metal, heated through- a knife to flame. But still I am not enough. I wait by your gate, fingers on the latch, leaning into your distance.
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