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This year I can’t be empty.

Not in the belly.

The full womb like a page-turner:

which organ will split you next?


Empty house: the bucket under the gutter,

the cockpit, the BB gun I wished for,

perhaps the dishwasher.


The mind, however,

a running faucet           she doesn’t want to leak

but soon she will.


Empty hands: no suitcase,

no stockings to shimmy on

and over a rounded prayer.


I always wanted to know        what it means

to throw a whole body into oblivion,


like this (I)

  like this (I)

    like this (I)


you say three times your vows

under the breath of your sins.

Posted 09/22/15
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