Thursday, December 15, 2016

Poem #47 Mary, We Scorn You

boast never make an impression
a short marriage to glorious apatite
embrace three having so dared
scarce providing-need-jealousy
spirit sacred, swindling self-swimmer to sincere
daughter to aided anxiety teach
to heal my peril before compassion is dead
invisible impressions impoverished.
Mary, we scorn you
green foliage jittering thoughts
lost here amongst them
there too hid anxiety on my behalf
have a kind journey
born in alluring speech
forbidden to tender motions
turn whispers ships of confined thought
alluring life, in hope

a confident being empty of breath

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