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Thursday, December 5, 2013


deliver me
the details, number
the legs, trace your fingers
around the space
where loneliness takes it
the hardest, lonely teeth

mouth our bodies, let
our elephants trek
the folded skin
of Hannibal’s escape

march me
through your pass,
let us screw

this up, leaving
crumpled satin trumpets
along the toll roads
of our retreat


  1. deliver me, indeed...very fine, sir.
    "...trace your fingers around the space where loneliness takes it..."

  2. ha. yes, mary picked my first fav line...the leaving of the crumpled satin along the roads of our retreat...the elephants and hannibal on...there is a nice heat under this.

  3. I am loving this from beginning to end. Should I ever feel the need to retreat my pursuers shall find a trail of crumpled satin trumpets just for the pure poetic image of it.

  4. whew... there def. is some good heat in this... but also the sensitive voice that really sees the other..

  5. Well, the previous four have said it all! Very well done!

  6. Stunning opening lines ~ I admire the tight and gritty words ~

    Nice to meet you ~

  7. I have to love the crumpled satin trumpets..

  8. Many well-crafted phrases in this poem. Sometimes the 55 format focuses the detail so that only what is essential remains.