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Tulips

The wind is whispering to me though
breeze after breeze leaving me
with mist in both ears, and blushed cheeks of flaming maroon
I came out for this and she doesn’t let me
down. She paints me the prettiest spinouts, light lamping the sky with
moon kisses.
I stomp my feet down the sidewalk, at near midnight,
the king of the world. I’m on my way to the nearest gas station for their
last cup of coffee, from their 4 PM batch. And I’ll drink it
to the last drop, till every cigarette scraping the box is
gone, and wait for her.
I’ll bite all 10 nails of from all 10 fingers
Scrape all of the dead skin film from my face with the clippings
Pick the grass peeking through the pavement
And crunch my empty Styrofoam cup into a bushel of tulips
I pick myself off from the steps of the nearest church, and regret as I stand
that my feet fly back, my ankles stand maimed,
too much salt in my diet, not enough potassium
We drag on anyway, looking up instead of down and passing dollar bills dropped
I am truly perfect this moment, and the world isn’t too big for me in fact
it encloses around me like a nice pair of leather gloves, snug bug in a leather rug,
I taste all things too high to touch
I invite it all in, and release
before she runs I thrust
my Styrofoam cup tulips toward her, each one a notch to the bags under my eyes
And she strokes me and holds and needs me engulfing each crystal snow like drop down her gullet
Gorging on my tiresome greased mouth, till she’s sucked the soul ransack out
And leaves me lost in a gut
full of white crushed tulips
Lost and sleeping, till I am to be
Fashioned into a living thing
Or born
once again





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