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Jack and Berniece Are Making Sense
Berniece is gonna fall in love,and
that's a grass stainshe can't feel
spreading thru denim.Jack has been thinking
abouta
thoughtful notepenned with
a peice of charcoalto prove the point-
when
I went to digress,he offered a smile
so wrinkledand sad,
I decidedto just let things
fall where they may.another pot of coffee
for the kids
and ahoney glazed doughnut
for me,please.
Tonguing Wounds From Insatiable Bites
you blinked in subtle shades of gray,poorly lit space,
wrapped to see thewarp of rooms.
I remember
bloodshot eyesbetween apectacular intervals
of sun thru plastic slats,a warm smell of
newly cut sapplingsand
your sundress tangledin the same curious
angle of bellyaches,collapsed
around your waist-inhaled silence
under a wrinkled garment.
A Lunar Shot To The Solar Plexus
still andpressed,
burning stictcheson broken fingers
that keepsinky artifacts
of attractive flesh,like lips over gums,
hidden teethworkmolded from a gorgeous clay.
yet,
we took stainunder rusty concussion
lamplight,exhaused color
and stood,reduced
to a scrawl
of uneven handwriting,knees bent,
mind furrowed.