Monday, August 12, 2013

tanka - For Russia with Love

a tree trembles 
after the mist has lifted . . .
I work on 
the language
of my irate silence

who will speak
these days,
if not I,
who will be the throat
of these hours      

there’s a triangular
rainbow stuck to my tongue
and it wants
to lick
your genitals 

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