In Poems & Fiction

The dog barked all morning.

The green trees breathed blue air.

 

I’m resting now, on the motel bed,

the TV watching me.

 

I am a telephone.

Why don’t you call?

 

Blood-black night in my veins,

I want one good noise,

so I turn on the radio’s truth music.

 

When you wore your flammable party body

I wanted you, like charred bones want flesh.

 

I think I hear ringing, now,

I’m a phone call to myself.

 

Naked on this bed,

I have no address.

 

Wherever you’ve gone,

I will call you,

remind you

I’m not your fault.

 

Appeared in The Midwest Quarterly, Summer, 2014.

 

 

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