Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Calling Valentine

The regular morning call
of the bill collector
calls me to my prayer
itself rather thread-bare
with Tourette’s-like leftover
modern dance features
you can hear the choruses
of grinding molars as remote
tectonic murmurs from a past
whose words are slurred
but whose will is clear
there are no questions here
where I pause to kneel
past debt past fear

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