1,466 Readings | 11 Ratings

You can’t call it Tuesday

You have this way of putting things so they’re true.
You have these gray skies. Open that mouth.

We call them “rock doves.” Come with me
to the challenging place. Put your hands around my waist.

Tiddlywinks. A glass-roofed expanse.
We go for a walk after dark. We have the sound

but not the feeling of rain. I think of “terrible”
in that way where it means “great.”

We’re always opening up the small doors our secrets have.
Sometimes the phone rings. Sometimes

a salty green wind blows in.
I’m going to sew gemstones all over this thing.
Posted 05/06/09
Comments (1)
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terrible poem! really terrible and sweet!
05/10/09 7:30pm