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The Heart-in-ItselfMy bodies - I have one
for each day I'm alive - keep
popping off into the past.
Today's is made black and blue
by language trying to break in, rummage
around, look for the heart, that the heart
might be pulled out, hung over me and prayed to:
"Here I am," I'd say. "May the marl of my mind
prove true fertilizer for the words that we need.
Love, for example. That love might live
like a tree, reach in every direction and like
your arteries arc its blood into every flesh
of the greater body that we become." And
the heart's beating, high there, would
summon the other believers back.
Pretending LoveScreaming signs
longing for my
Curves and lines
and shapes that I
(Should I be
Stop the cheek,
stop pretending love
and start amusing
Start to speak,
just make me laugh
or fail seducing.
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