deepundergroundpoetry.com

cherubic politique
so uncollar my shirt,
up to the moss around the chin,
and uncuff the wrist from its irregular saltwater beat
unbutton the puzzles that our babies
pretended had flown away,
puzzles that choked
the hearth and chamber.
for you were correct about the stars,
they are out of control,
they seethe from fleeing light,
with their songs
of bloody urges, hear-of,
a red-setter and his cherry-heavy
paw prints on a scrubbed floor
everywhere misaligned
rolling around, to admit
I should have been hung; dried
outside this tiger's mouth,
should have been sung in hunger,
bird-watching the beetle eggs, your eyes
hatching in a stomp
of horseshoe blue.
up to the moss around the chin,
and uncuff the wrist from its irregular saltwater beat
unbutton the puzzles that our babies
pretended had flown away,
puzzles that choked
the hearth and chamber.
for you were correct about the stars,
they are out of control,
they seethe from fleeing light,
with their songs
of bloody urges, hear-of,
a red-setter and his cherry-heavy
paw prints on a scrubbed floor
everywhere misaligned
rolling around, to admit
I should have been hung; dried
outside this tiger's mouth,
should have been sung in hunger,
bird-watching the beetle eggs, your eyes
hatching in a stomp
of horseshoe blue.
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