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Thursday, April 6, 2017

poem

turn right at the wood
and go plunder
an eight percent change of orioles
or the weathervane timed out and it rained
until reboot
a fresh paint job 
a polite barricade, the rhododendrons
so my turn to a mattress in the woods
where i thought i could grate away all the clean
on a coil of spring
or rock warm under the hawk sky
your weight just one more thing
holding me down
so i rolled my field hockey skirt up at the waist
and fouled out
shoulder raw with the meanness of trying
next time i won’t dress for any occasion

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