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Jakob I by Genna Gardini

Genna Gardini | April 12th, 2012 | poetry | No Comments

Let’s intone a little rhyme about passing.
Necessity renovates the interior,
quick-cut job, gravel still in the letters’ ridge,
so he can feel his way around

the back room- a chest that won’t contract,
because that would mean it was made of muscle
when, really, it is a tight, stone slab of fat.
Epidural, around about,
wobbling solidly under inspection.

Squat on the floor’s tin
with your bog-hair slickened to skin,
feigning a wind thinned under the airline blanket,
whispering “organic” to the boy you love,
instead of amen.

Pucker up, you spackled pore.

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