Blank Verse In The Mall and
Single On February 13
A
plastic ribbon dangles in the air
and free this
gaudy pink of coarser grain
but for the knots that
hold it to the ground,
that cheapen pain,
wind, snow, and seeing her.
On marble floors my
shoes thud, hollow, down,
soulless by bright,
red ribbons. Plastic
is color interrupting.
Incase love,
crust it over with one solid coat
of
brighter gold and wait for desperate hands.
They’ve
known the will to tremble and compose
though forgotten now, beloved, bright, bursting
in and up and over.
All the world
now only paper, symbols, loss, unfair
exchanges,
cashiers. See, Michael covers
his head with his camouflaged hood, too sad
to accept she’s gone, a month, he's only
twelve.
Their ages torn amidst wet kisses on
projections
and the bright, white shine of shelves.
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