Drink Me Then!
drink me then,
my arms, my feet, and my dreams.
i've spun my web out of moonlight,
and now the trees come to bury the dead.
there are small stones that hold infinity,
whose very smoothness holds myriad maps.
while raindrops speak of salvation and seduction,
and the boxes are wrapped and eternally silent...
the lies we planted on fevered nights,
still hold moments of magic and touch.
and now the fire itself has come for cost,
as the falling star claims a name for its own...
sweat and tears, semen and the shake,
of the old man's hand as he paints the night...
let us not speak, tis a time to listen,
a time that hands redeem...
for we are no more than love and failure,
no less than the hunger that drives the wind!
Eric Cockrell's Other Poems
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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