Sunday, June 09, 2013

Poem #1989

Some of us have cleared
a plot of land for strawberries.
We've dug the location like
a good song is dug. And the swirl
at the end of the day is actually
blood rushing away from the brain,
lifting your spirits enough
to lob a limb into lotion. Are you
with me? I'm starting to imagine
the great sea foam swelling
into the seawalls. Set us Free. In
the meantime, I will poke around in
your personal stuff and determine
whether or not I see any patterns
in your life that need editing.
I'll always be that good until I'm bad.


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