Wednesday, August 20, 2014

poem || Jeff Harrison

Unsalted Sunbeams

your soured distance phone
is sick of twists, slippery chess moves
a look that could switch croupiers
others' noon joined in there
should you salt sunbeams (two) today
unequally putrid and
small in a robbery sheet
your croupiers all indistinguishable
picked locks flopping in there
sweating this solo star
arrows kiss unable cruel back spew
hear 'round tongue-tongue
the famous leaving place became
our field of requests

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