Monday, December 1

Milk and Cream

you frighten me, you small hard thing
hand-in-hand so secret press
you all soft and comforting
feathers, wool, and cotton dressed

you idiot, you thing sublime
freckles, ink, and form insane
conversation turpentine
always belching, singing, playing

you in my brain, you rooted firm
and stars and light make foreign dream
nothing happens dizzy worm
grinds me into milk and cream

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