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I stay inside and listen to a stiff Kansas wind,

The kind that makes you

Wonder how you will die.

You can’t help it, in this colorless winter day

Even the geese have fled, and the river is dirt brown,

Down to it’s last inch, exposing

Alluvial fans in the shape of vaginas.

Last night the moon tore the branches off my trees

And left them, like human limbs, all across my sad yard.

The squirrels have stopped chattering and fighting.

They have found an empty place to sleep, or they will die.

Before you get home from work,

I will dice the pink ham,

I will hold hands with chives.

The pepper will fly. The rosemary salt

Will creep into my cuts from helping, helping.

I wish I were prettier. I wish I had

Something more to give you. My body

Swims through regular cotton nightmares

In our $1200 dollar bed that you bought,

You bought.

As the wind slowly tears the house apart,

I step outside in pajamas, with a hammer

And a few nails. It’s silly to think I might be

Carried away. But physics says it’s possible.

Take my hand, my chipped nails, 

Don’t waiver.

Posted 01/12/17
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