[THERE’S THE FEAR. KNOBBY-DARK & SLICKED—]
There’s the fear. Knobby-dark & slicked—
runed &
searing.
Here’s what patience wrought...
is how I’d start—
all atremble—
for you and for the taste of you
there were and were and O, shade-borne,
speak of those I favor, those whose mouths
are swelled with names are swelled, jeweled-over,
each a pearl, each a mother...
for were you not
bereft
& were you not besotted...
yes and yes and those who haunt us hold us close
as portents to our restless minds—
dearest,
thin me out—
dearest, I am clotted and dull,
thickened ’round the barest of signs.
If not a child, a flood, a fiery host,
then aster, star, stern recompense.
TYPO
30
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