Saturday, May 13, 2006


I suppose I ought to work on the alleged "love" poems before I revise the NaPo stuff. This one used to go under the name of Love Poem #7, but not anymore ...


Such a stupid hat.
Not you, the way it falls
across your eyes, the brim
sieving dust mites;
a swatch of orange
without feathers
- felt, maybe,
or shoddy.

So many rags and snags
rolled tight to fit
in this cupboard.

Dress up for me.
Let fall your hat, your shirt -
wear me, tonight, my supple
leather laced tight
to you, your fingers
my wicker crown.

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