my mother's pearls

Today is almost a palindrome.
With my tongue on
the strings, gingerly
brutal with this turbulence
of unanswerable correspondence.
Everyone has soft shoes
and dark eyes today, though
Armitage engirths
fantastic tolls. So you want to be
rid of your arms? I can
picture you as a Michaelangelo
Venus, bottling the waves and
grounding in apothecary with your
shell. An inferno, to be sure:

Did you smell that other room
on your fingers as you lie back
after serious love, sliding
my mother's pearls over your
petals? A tall glass of
all the oceans, all the noise.
I'm dehydrated



=====


NEW!!!–Dirty Milk–reactive poem for microphone http://www.lewislacook.com/DirtyMilk/

http://www.lewislacook.com/

tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html








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