Please, if you know the difference between the hand and the cradle that rocks un- abated, do not hide the hand from the one in need. Do not ostracize the one who is angry. This poem begs for the grace of chopsticks in thin hands. The hands beg for other hands. The voice wants to make itself into a thin stream of smoke, sucking in and out on itself, pulling the even patchouli breaths out of modulated vapor. Do not ostracize the poem because he can't tell a woman from a tulip. Do not ostracize the beginning of a has-been, a non- career. Do not ostracize the man on the bus in the green plaid shirt, the one who smells like sulphur and cana lilies. Embrace him. He could be Christ in a vagrant moment, moving in time with orchid and ruah, the underside of his thigh needing a tube of Polysporin. Do not ostracize the toothless. With teeth we sear metal and serate ourselves, we are subject to the drug of a kiss. With kisses we convince, leave the roll- away rolled, we connive with alliterative devices, we are able to hide our skank. Do not ostracize yourself for this. Take the bus. File yourself down to the quick of a root, a bolt. It is time to mix metaphors. The poem cannot tell you where to heal, how to find the crux of the matter, the what factor, the thing that counts.
Laura Carter Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
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