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David R. Poems
A Body Untraveled
Your eyes are the Sundarbans, floating in high salty waters, unseen without a map. They are reserved for tigers only, none pass without stripes.
I Pray You Well Without My Face To Bear
Since the night my shoulder got into a bar fight I've been hanging my sea legs off the boat, shooting at fish with my Glock 17. I swear I've hit at least twelve. They float
All Equations Equal Too Late
Sixteen years since you wore that sweater the one you hung-dry only, washed separately, and folded three times before placing it on your dresser.
Let's act like we're on a boat together. You sit on the edge and let your feet
A Toast to Ambivalence
My conscience smells like you; You spend so much damn time there. I know you have nothing better to do than relate to me, or I to you. The traps I set were only intended for snacks: a light meal of you.
Time Drips from A Dark Faucet
I know what you try to say through clenched teeth and miffed tongue - I've squeezed the juice from your words, tasted the sour choices you made.
Aboard The 'Dammit'
I wasn't drunk enough to name my boat after you. That lovesick shit most sailors are proud of only to sink it years later... But I did use a king sized stanford on the bilge,
These Summer Nights Make Me Shiver
I know you miss me in your private ways like holding onto an extra pillow during sleep if you sleep if you ly there, legs extended - giving up a
Comments about David R.
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
A Body Untraveled
Your eyes are the Sundarbans,
floating in high salty waters, unseen without a map.
They are reserved for tigers only,
none pass without stripes.
Your thighs are trees in the East,
slightly sun-touched, milky rivers
bathe their trunks and they are dried
by the Bengal moon.
Your waist-land is concealed under silky thickets,
moving with the midnight breeze, drinking with the forest.
When it rains your hips take shelter in the wilds
and exotic dance becomes their prey.
Your neck, lips, I scroll with my finger are
trails to your ...