Saturday, April 11, 2015

from Bartleby for Peter Culley

Remember leisure poets who invert the body’s response?  They yield to an earlier image, back when fruit dots were candies of the gods.  A twilit lozenge in the wake of dawn’s burst.  Dispatched to that suckling place – a pure exposure or announcement before skin.  That’s the ticket, pleased to admit one.  A baby shower that delivers a pillar from the waif.  Advertisements followed by popcorn and sticky feet.  The Magi caught looking can’t get enough.  Dead letters arrive just in time.

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