Thursday, March 18, 2010

Lines Too Early for Easter

for the nicks and snags of battered hearts, and livers that like oysters
are helplessly gathering poisons in their red and rusty cloisters;

for the ribs that close and open like the fronded beards of mussels
and lungs that sweetly blossom in the dirty air that rustles

in the trachea, and whispers past the thyroid, dries the throat,
and catches in the nostrils like an old and dusty coat.

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