Never Enough

They finally did catch up with me. So what.
It was good while it lasted, being out there
where I let you get through to me. Now where
should I escape? My other doors’re shut,
my wheels’re worn thin, my pens’re undercut
and all my beds’re taken. Eh, vive la guerre!

Each word unsaid is holy, like a prayer
— each word taken to heart, anything but.

Mine take after what yours most maligns
like an old poem, how when come to an end
it can’t recreate, repeats repeats repeats,
lining up lost thoughts like empty streets
where strangers gawk like limericks and each friend
works like a piece with only fourteen lines.

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Bone’s Mother

What touch might ease your aching to your bone?
May I give you my flesh, get warm and wet
for you, embrace your want in tender sweat,
accept your pain inside, yours for my own?

Sing to me of lovers who have known
your subtle body’s secret silhouette,
of wisdom learned, of madness they’ll forget,
of fruit you’ve carried of wild seed they’ve sown.

Your legs! Your arms! Your back! Your neck! Your cheek!
Don’t sacrifice a single part! Not one!
If anything, take all of mine to add
the strength you need when you’re most tired and weak
and feeling old. I love each love you’ve done,
bone’s mother to each child I never had.

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As Near As I Know

I haven’t gone very far
before very far gets drawn
into years and more years 
of light losing itself in dark
without a body to run into,
never bending back home.

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