Poems

lap

lay the mute fork in my lap
say incomprehensible things about love
say domestic things about life and hate
say not knowing how to tell death from technical death
say the anguish over the cat’s communication 
lay the naked knife in my lap
say forbidden things about the thought of flower
say things under the nails of the dead
between their hairs
lay the dirty plate in my lap
say things and say and dance the fingers
lay the cracked glass in my lap
say things say things and all I hear is the tear in this our gentle language

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