Too many words dulling the pain, making inebriations,
Make for bad poems:
But I sat with you on my swings the other day before you left
Me:
I sat and brought you into my neighborhood
Like a wolf into a virgin’s bedroom: I guess my head didn’t think
Of what my body was doing:
The woodland church where your body moved under the pitch
Of clouds, before you kissed my neck and
Drove away into the overly maddened crowd; and you never
Returned,
But that shadow you stained the coral with is moving here today:
She is a beautiful woman who lines over me like
A crime scene,
While you are back in the warm contours of your folded house
Listening to all of your children of far away.
To All Of Your Children Of Far Away
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