“Ankles,” Poem published by the Savannah Colege of Art and Design

LEG PIC 3

Licking stamps that abuse my fingerprint,

I surrender to “gone.”

It’s empty to live without siblings

holding candles,

the take-the-fun-out-of-writing workshop.

Organized crime

swells in the corners of desire

to overthrow my hands.

Hair growing on my chest

proves women are descended from apes,

and hold tea time as a form of conspiracy.

An afternoon of diplomatic moments

as the prettiest girl

sips hot poison in a rocking chair.

Her severe haircut announces a modern philosophy-

an electric wok.

She’s writing a movie that ends as she talks;

it cannot roll in the flock.

Fire ignites,

oxygen milking the heart of orange flame,

the holes exppsed in her spleen;

she is World Trade Center rippling against a lower sky.

Breaking news-

everyone hates the Jews and their literature.

The tears are too proud to drop-

I will not stop,

I will not stop.

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