Certainly by Jeffrey Zable

it’s a harsh life with future hope predicated on little balls of milk

in the stomachs of suckling lambs.

The cardinal pimp affixing his eyelashes to the leprous girl

who’s been lost for years in the neighborhood,

a single hair on a ballot box is all that was found.

And the weeping tongues that cast aspersions on Wall Street executives

have no idea how the beer stains remained on the carpets

when conflagrations of moths have lived in bell towers

since the beginning of time.

This, the only sense we can make of it.

The mouths of those who speak of love yet murder in syllogisms

is one of the most common predicaments you will ever embroider.

Better to stay home and knit a sleeve from perilous memories

than to walk along the shore of permuting highways.

Just let yourself go and trust that your shadow will help you forget

about treacherous doorways to congestion and solitude,

becoming more voluminous as you die. . .

 

-Read more of Jeffrey’s poetry here

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