Monday, February 8, 2010

Poetry Blow out for February 8, 2010

How ardently your
red lipstick clings to the rim
of your coffee cup

Hard bread for breakfast
soup for lunch, rice for dinner
you nourish my soul

I ride the slipstream
I make, I do, I go but
I rest in your love

I don't think
heaven is
above your head

it is somewhere

it is wherever
your feet fall

Writing verse
is a lot like
playing mah jong
it depends upon
the variations
the matches
what you take away

I come to this stage
tugging at souvenirs

I change identities
and often

now a soldier
not a son

now a brother
not a priest

so many roles
and so much to do

today I wake you
with clarion calls

Tomorrow I will inflame and
hang the treasonous

but more even than that
I want this

to take my leave
of you

when I'm done living
your imagined lives

and start living

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