If I am repaired, can we meet again for the first time, in all of the places I have feared to go, and then, again, in all of the places I will have forgotten, if I am repaired?




SC




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Here is the desk drawer in which all of my odds and ends are kept, tidbits that would otherwise never see the light of day.











Friday, May 4, 2012

Mag 115





They came too late with their promises.
I had already been ruined,
poached relentlessly,
lathered in Breck—the golden formula.
‘You have to keep your eyes closed, honey,’ mother would say,
‘Tight!’
But what frog’s-ass face upended could dispel Hell’s own brine?

No more tears they promised.
But suds were suds by then,
and you wonder why I flinch, tubside.

7 comments:

  1. Seems like some people are always late with their promises ...

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  2. Gold formula Breck...ah memories...and bloodshot eyes...your writing is always a treat Steven...

    ReplyDelete
  3. So glad I came back for one more look at The Mag .. your poem made the journey worth it!

    ReplyDelete
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