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Poetry > A Geography of the Heart

Remnants

In moontime I call: we quickly
climb inside each others skulls
rummage hand in hand through
old jokes
dusty dreams
& childhood fears

(those gothic souvenirs
overdressed & somewhat absurd
with their fake blood-
stains, stale tears &
semi-ominous clouds)

Saved at last
of arms & a man I sing while
pillowed on my breast you
dream of your Jocasta

Another day invades
the friendly darkness of that bed
exposing
crumbling egos
one broken heart
& wrinkled skin

(fragments of our
moon-induced uncertainties)

Published on 13/01/2014

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  L. A. Wolanskyj

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