I’m a Water Person

August 27th, 2009 · No Comments

But you like forests better.
How, in the same breath
that passes through the crooked bloom
of your mouth, can you sigh exhausted,
“Oh Christ!” and then ask if I ever wonder
what sound a deer makes as it’s dying?
You feel roots ruining proof of humanity:
The mattress rots beneath trees,
its white cover melting into constant snow.
The springs rust.
The wood is knotted.

Tags: 2009 · AP Issues · Poetry · September 2009

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