Magnets Open All The Same

This one gets liturgical/existential/philosophical…

VOICES

Your perforated body speaks loud

      into

my head,

                              my brain hitting the hard wall

      of
ill-intention and poor

      reception.

It is here when I know you don’t
really exist –

                                    except in my salt cracker dreams –

      and

      I
touch your bruised fruit rib side.

posted: 06 March 17
under: Poetry