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Rue | small poet at large

small poet at large


The  barrel  tastes  a  cross  between  anchovies  and  eggplant,
warm after entering  my  mouth.  I  lie  here  in a red teddy,
eyes closed,  a half naked mannequin.  You are the only
one I trust to squeeze the trigger. What I see is a man
who  weeps,  imagine  you  the  finger  releasing
the safety. You saw me an oasis, filled your
stomach until you heaved sand. Sleep
will evade you for a year or two,
then  the  lines  in your face
will fade.  I  am  a cross
between sweetbreads
and  sour  cream.
Buy  me  this
last  round

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All rights reserved including copyright - Richard H. Fox 2002