Sunday, September 10, 2017

Pocket’s Valentine

Someone laid a pen
On my chest when I
Was in my crib
All things start out as toys
And looked straight at me
Prehensilely as love does
Though I’m strangely older
And the faces have evolved
So now I always carry a pen
In my breast pocket
When it’s not in use
I think of my heart as a battery-
Charger resurrecting its ink
Poor corpse sprung loose 

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