Three Poems
I am your houseHurry 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:
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A Moon & the SwallowsPart 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.
Another part:
A startled young couple, three stories
like feathers
The moon juggles (dreams, petitioning) very judiciously.
Another part:
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.
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Running out of eastTrade 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
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Copyright 2009, Tony Mancus
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