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Barefoot in October (at Fucking Last)

October 10, 2018

There is a joy that Thanatos grants,
toes untouched by mosquitos for the first time
in forever, the bare cold, at last
blessed by the night, soft silly wisp
cotton vapor sparsely written
in a script never spoken
embracing the darkness of our
elegantly hypnotizing dyslexicacy
imposed not by fault but the gravitational hue
of lushness. The air is still
pregnant with your unspeakable name;
like the perfume of forgiveness,
lingering on the tip of the tongue,
right behind the pinhole eye
of an aperture lost in blink,
one can possibly pause to pass through
the stillness and hear it whispered.
The sky has masks shaped with leaves
fragrant again with the dusky
tone piped thirstily into our ears,
echoes and shadows -doing their best-
before our innocently lying eyes
ready to shutter and crocodile cry.
Walk out into it all, maybe-
drunk on fifth notes and seasick sighs,
crafty little zingers, indignant hypocrisy,
bathing in rampant everlasting starlight
whole again, for once, this one time only,
your little scathing hyperbolic ironic redundant
contrarian sensibilities finally
crunched beneath your feet,
inescapable in the fall,
might as well be good as dead by winter,
rested and ready for the thaw.

From → Poetry

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