I am your house
Hurry back I am
don’t depart(laughter between
or want you hereI am
a metal bowl dulled with apples
not to go or wantyou
I am needles gathering
The sky purpling like a bruise
one other set
all the cinderblocks so stained
this is how dark comes on:
A Moon & the Swallows
Part of it:
A drunk, his collar
You, he bellows—my only hand touched forehead, my only leg
you do not know where I’ve stolen
You do not know my designs.
A startled young couple, three stories
The moon juggles (dreams, petitioning) very judiciously.
An old couple, at the exact same
Now with more cracks, more loose groaning
Their passion, a saw. The product of their lust,
It showers the street
The last part:
Love sounds startle
It’s then the old lady
a bagful of light drops out from its limbs.
Running out of east
Trade weak joint for a song.
Trade your body for a silent room,
What can you call the hand’s memory?
The trace of a smell left. A cake of soap
Trade mercy. Trade the twitching light-switch for a steady hand full of fingers
Copyright 2009, Tony Mancus
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