Tuesday, January 31, 2012

marriage as an itch, marriage as
learning how to shoot
a properly maintained gun with
the palm of a woman

greased and ready with theory, an apron,
kitchen relief. thinking
instant ruin; then,
preparing poached
pears as a snack

jelly fruit, misled. a soft stye
forms from strain, or crying as an expression.
the calm smell of blood as
less sexy,
the countless winter, as capable
as doors

with a sweet mouth and sweeter waters.



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