William James

working class poetry // punk rock performance

5.13.01


I loved you
in the same way I cannot
shoot crippled horses,

for the same reasons
oxygen masks fall
from overhead compartments
on airliners doomed
to crash.

You were my first collapsed
lung of the summer,

the rust scribbled
on the pages of
every poem I never wrote.

 

[originally published in Resurgo]
 

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