OLD FASHIONED
Middling through a forest unawares
obscure bright cancers grant me certain life
as if, agape, I enter something wild.
*
If this is hell, why all the calm?
Half-eaten fruits &
prior women
the sins that enter emerge anew
on a side I've never considered.
*
Things don't work
so well anymore.
A force of a forest, a cane,
a final wreck.
My knee is still sore.
Your face glides across the waters
like one of those leggy, slim bugs.
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