Wednesday, July 7, 2010

From 'I Miss the Hum of Your Skeleton'


I wouldn’t brush your ass by accident
I feel too shallow to have a superficial conversation
you more lightly than the others weigh me down
pour words into smoke –the fire will clear

no one touches you inside anymore
lies reach out from you with a grin
sheets crisp as envelopes
your flat-car clangs empty from the coast

a date is sweet and cut coarsely into squares
nervous wins and cocky failures
your chewable delicious hair
I see you are back in focus

your password comes to me in my sleep
then the light goes stale and the leaves wilt
shrunken heads in young November snow
iron filings in my rotten teeth

winter crowds into my day of light
the pull is invisible –your words are spare
thistles rage at hints of snow
I come away –drawing closer in.



Jude Dillon, is a poet in waiting. Waiting for women, publishers, morning coffee.The sun came up the temperature fell and the poems spill out. Where can we find them? Rattle the bucket, fish or cut bait. The world is waiting too. He lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. Jude's website is

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