BEGINNING WITH A LINE FROM A CARTOON
O Karen, my computer wife,
you were saying
something about binary stars
clacking like false
teeth in the night.
Or was it lasagna
you offered me.
I was thinking of salt, again,
and broken promises
and dried leaves left
to winter
in the drain of our shallow pool.
I think your eyes
were my idea,
where to put them,
what color.
I wanted to see you always in this darkness.
No one ever said
how soon bones begin
to seep through the skin
or that sadness
is a substitute for the sacrament of the x-ray.
We should get
a dog, name him
something
truly unspeakable.
And start attending church
as though we
belonged, our mouths stuffed
with song.
4 comments:
That shit is dope.
Word! Word. Word?
O Paul Revere,
to you I have always
been a redcoat.
A history worth repeating.
Call me baby,
call me Karen,
call me once only,
and then expect Italian.
You were thinking
of a mountain.
You were thinking
of a promise broken
by silence,
and you thought, once,
of eyes.
But in spring,
you think only
of irises,
which bloom
in every
color imaginable.
I heard your cry
before
the first shot
rang out.
Perhaps I deserve
lanterns, drums, a song.
I have been Britain.
I never touched you
except with the Stamp Act.
I never loomed
except from across
the dark Atlantic.
I never figured you
for sad.
Let us get a dog.
Let us name him
Boston.
In church,
you must think
your tea
overboard,
if you think of me
at all.
It is Spongebob!
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