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June 17, 2024


By Rp Verlaine


A butterfly in
nectar, unable
to move, yet
able to fly ...
love can feel like.

In any obsession
tortured doubt
crawls past reason to
a bottomless hole.

Is all I think of
ugly imagery of a
praying mantis crawling
on pictures of a
laughing child.

As I freeze in
a phone booth.
under dark Midwestern skies,
thousands of miles

While my daughter tells me
"he hit me again but
he's really sorry.
He won't do it
again, I know he won't."

All words in
my mouth ash
my knuckles bone white
clenching phone.

Article © Rp Verlaine. All rights reserved.
Published on 2022-03-28
Image(s) © Sand Pilarski . All rights reserved.
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