Wednesday, April 4, 2012

The Mended

The Mended

Mother never knew

Lakeside or seaside.

The birds trilled.

Jerusalem sank.

I would kiss your archetypal self
but the masks taste like plastic.

Bandages, hidden wound scars.

What pear prickles if
it is the beginning of things?

Spark dark light roar.

Father knew it happened.

Which sons and daughters
were the first to sing of ice?

MGB

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