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Love Poem with Irony


«« past   |   future »»

Allow me to speak of the length of my body.
You measured me for two new suits. A small man

at a booth painted your name on a grain of rice,
which I ate running down First Avenue, holding

my stomach and making strained noises in my throat.
My penis is the straw apes use to eat termites

and ants—the workers hollow out chambers to fill
with larvae and food for larvae. My eyeglasses

are stapled and your family witnessed. My heart
is the foam head of a mop used to scrub the dog

at the end of the world. His coat is the color
of oatmeal with butter. He waits for an electronic

buzzer to ring, sitting on his too long haunches
in a stainless steel box. My heart is stapled, and you

performed for me, stringing electrons to its shape.
The ones and zeros transfer simultaneously—

one to another. Thrown from the ladder during
the lightning storm, claiming I'd been electrocuted,

you said that would mean I was dead so it wasn't true.
I knew I wasn't dead because I heard my scream.


«« past   |   future »»

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post #69
bio: john ball
perma-link
4/9/2005
11:43

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April - National Poetry Month 2005

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