A Cargo of Green Hearts
the long nights remember me and
press the dark ovals of their faces
against my window and all goes
black. but they come later and you
sun linger longer.
sun, I think you love me
more. I think you are trying to
catch the loose end of newspaper
jutting from my ribcage with your
tongue blue as a gas jet. I think you
love me the way thighs love
hands the way the trees love
horizontal the way the grass
loves the dirty fabric of this poor-shod
earth. I am a poor boy too, sun
I will burn anything for you, I am your secret
arsonist. I have been waiting all
winter like a mad hatter for your
crucifixion tea. be my marmalade, sun
be my reoccurring delicate
ache. when you ignite me at dusk
my shadow will lengthen all the
way around this earth.
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