a thing of god

Assurance settles as

morning mist, the

exhalation of the

warming earth, the

churning dirt, an

ungraspable above

the ground.

And the meandering

road ahead has tilted

to merely how?

We never asked to be happy;

only for each other,

and ours is a bloody, lustful

marriage, a thing of God.

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I haven’t asked him for his number because now I am known, now the I-I-I am afraid, now I am up there on the raggedy cross with Christ: no longer unimaginable (so a little breathless), no number, no d

a better question

In the end, I suppose the better question is: how does the ocean feel about us?


I emerged from my door and carried into my present moment the quivering skeleton of a whom this poem is for, a what is trying to be accomplished. We are the escape artists. We point the way out. We pa

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