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LIGHT TERMINATION
Not an RU-486 Not a D&C or D&X Despite her horror at you
little watermelon The towering buildings that during sleep marched
through her languid veins You are not yellowed Not under cold stress
as you were You dream now of ghosts that are not you How you would trust
their tiny hearts in your own chest Wanting to be whole while knowing
portions of your own flesh took with them something more than blood
More than stem cells rich with you Want to be lathered in sterile clay
Dried out and happy One One Want Wanting to be one As in one
APPLE BELLY
Born in a sour waste lot,
you were born chicken.
She feared your sexless face,
you were the sun's white shadow.
You blinded her, took her for your own.
You were a violent mirror.
She was your scaffolding.
You grew rampant
and defiled her.
She was alone and benighted by you.
You were born chicken
and spent her as if she had no past—
POEM
You pass it back, dead thing—
sticky salamander of potential.
You do not bathe it,
do not take photographs.
It is past now
so why remain?
But you prefer the ice of sleep.
A ghost ship reminds you
that the lips of the deer are the softest
kisses and of the various quicksands
death is perhaps the most yawning.
Lungs will eventually seize—
leaky buckets are incapable of guilt.
Forgiveness is something
when you have someone to address.
So get up, dress and walk out.
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