February 27, 2009
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I question Lutherans
orange road blocks
and caffeine addicts.

If you taste like cream
I taste like Guinness.

I'm enchanted by bug wings
and bus wheels
and bangs.

Canaries in the artery.
Cleansed foxgloves
and crisp post in the pillowcase.

Lips, like sunflowers, turn together.

Accept the thumb in my mouth,
the hair I couldn't rope.
I've knocked over the paint.
I've thrown out my shoes.

My socks, too.

The pea rolled from the pod,
the cookie fractured before the glass.
The lamb lay it's neck before the lion
and said,

Kiss me first.

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