20160906

Raymond Farr


Apparitional States

3.
I was the poem’s
Crooked bird

I took gravity—
12 seconds

Of irreverence—
Express!

To the sidewalk!
I was voluptuous

To a fault
I was only

The idea
Of someone

In love with his
Own plummeting

The briefest
Of falls

On my
Conscience

I was a weight
In the darkness

I slashed
At the air

My poem
Was an anvil

Was a line
I detested reading

It was pretense
To look

The other way
At this

 
 
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