Covert Poetics

fragments whispered to a pretty girl in spring

i.

yesterday i told a
girl that what i
hate most about april
is having to pray
to t.s. eliot

ii.

i said my stomach
speaks 16 different languages
then i told her
politely that love is
the language of blood

iii.

as we made love
i rubbed her wisdom
teeth together for luck
like a pair of
fuzzy dice after all
these yrs of waiting
around for angels i’ve
learned nothing

iv.

once again it is
april and death is
my snuggle bunny in
the melting snow

v.

i pray that in
time she will become
a beautiful woman

a flower that will
bloom in any season

© 2008 John Dorsey

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