i want my heart to plagiarise nick cave
in a letter, or a fast snail, i want to
rain on the words i'd have felt to write
on its spiral shell.
lilt into phrases that don't mean the same
as when i say them. my tongue
gets clipped by my teeth and its just a
muted snow; a blooded telegraph to the
piano; forest pulled under red
blankets; the trees cut to sheaves.
their is 15 feet to go and you are shivering
and the snail is in the lumber yard
and i can wait to the wind laughs
but no more, its easier to be cruel
on my own than to whisper you
a church.
and to pretend that
you would be warm and i
would stop
with the bells, wit
and bleeding.
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