Saturday, August 31, 2013

Ruined Valentine

In the ruined castle of the poem
I long to see the bedrooms
not just the broken staircase
and the dark front room
where the callers are received
like the (high) school years
when the herd is thinned
by precocity and terror
I want to sit in the kitchen
for early breakfast and late
nights sipping and listening
to the adults murmuring
about the night ahead
the day behind

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