Spies


I’ve left my poems

To vultures at the cusp.

My back has scars from art

Falling during wild sex

Knocked off the wall.

A mess of memory meanders like

My other ghost. Niether refuse to

Enlighten me. I’ve been wondering

Some time.        Even though I crave the

Fruit of them all. Even though I crave the

Fruit of them all

One thought on “Spies

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