Saturday, June 30, 2012

Ballad of the Pocketknife

Ballad of the Pocketknife

Wake up water boy
and rub my aching feet
with olive oil.
Throw a towel on my
decapitated head,
decapitated by the salty night air,
for loving a boy
with a feather
on the tip of his tongue,
and living with him
for a hundred years
in a pocketknife. 

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