poem
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good verbs that aren’t
I can read & read & read but mostly fingers slick with natural oils or grease, one could say (as if sneaking across the DMZ and speaking of the enemy) nothing comes. The tip snaps off under some enormous privilege singular, impregnable & now I’m stealing words slick from Philip Levine’s poem about pubic hair…
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sense memory no. 1 [revision, 082320121822]
suddenly the sweetness of some fruit i can’t recall memory’s maw models some flowery drupe, not a mango spread across a lisp thin wheat its saccharine spear implacable i heave on repeat, breathe in hopes of dislodging the pneumonic of seeds, split spit and juice — an unmistaken but missing flame [for Matthew Rohrer, 062120121546]
wikipoem.org 