repeat this only once.

 

 

 

Let us call love, ego spelled

with your left arm in vinegar. Or alcyonarian with

it's polyps and septa. Or the Arab girl

at "Tony's Liquor and Groceries"

 

who slices, with such precision, the fresh pizza

then wraps them in aluminum foil

as if folding the sheets of a wooden baby.

 

Her hair Is black

'naturally' she says

and her mother scowls when she sees me

touching the back of her hand

 

then says something in Arabic to the old man

standing next to the Pepsi cooler. But before

all the alchemists were slaughtered

to make room for my doctor

 

who prescribes antibiotics for just about

everything that ails you; before roots and transmutation

in water, then drank quickly was the cure

for ringworm, I walked around in my

cowboy suit with a stocking cap full of sulfur.

 

There is no God.

 

Reviews

[Corset]

is too , you take that last line back, even if it is privatized, ownership of that God makes it real!

[h d e rushin]

I love you so much

[W.k.kortas]

I may have to try that stocking cap full of sulphur; there seems to be something that works, if this is any indication.

[h d e rushin]

I swear to you, that was the treatment for ringworm for poor folk.. thank you my friend.

[Ed Hart]

remember, when you are taken, the secretary will disavow (d-i-s-a-v-o-w. DISAVOW) any knowledge of your confessions...touchinghands, TOUCHING HANDS...i'll bet the line was longer than your words, but less patient than the background noise

[h d e rushin]

thank you my dearest Ed...

[caesarkreshen]

your similes/metaphors are very nice. That last line haha. Holy s**t. I didn't expect that.

It might be the morning, but I find this really good. I think this is one of the best things I've ever read by you. Sometimes I come back and realize it was a certain mood that made me say stuff like that, but I like this nonetheless. Nothing seems wrong.

My poem walks up to your poem and says, "What's a poem like you doing here?"