Tuesday, October 04, 2011

New York Times Crossword Poem Draft

Awe and alleluia tucked away, the alcove's
dark and safe. Who now will wield crop
on each? To reach with wit and sting
oh anything can make me cry, and why
this ugly leaving, calendars damp
with grieving, and noone I can call
no matter how you whipped me rageful
I miss your laugh at my expense, at
yours, and dad can hardly move without
your chiding. We abide and toss and turn.
It's weird to yearn for you who wound
yourself so close I hardly breathed.

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