Category: Poetry

Should they call me sentimental for riding by your old place to see the steps where you waited for me on long ago dates when I’d borrowed my dad’s Plymouth as he always had allowed? Should they call me
High school biology, skinning a frog: fascinated in spite of myself at the inside-out glove of the peeled epidermis, the sleekness of overlapped muscles, the three black liver lobes hiding the nut of a wrinkled gallbladder. At the way

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