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A navy-colored dragonfly
Lands on my Bermuda
Shorts. Its tail almost blends
into a black stain in the fabric.
Six legs walking onto my skin
my leg's long white hair giving
way to the insects weight.
Palm Island has millions
Of segmented things.

I am having what alcoholics
Call "a moment of clarity."
Me and Syphilis stand
On a bridge in my mind,
And all those we undone
Walk behind us
We had not thought
That we'd undone so many.

The dragonfly's wings buzz,
But it cannot fly. Her leg
Trapped in a boil on my knee,
Her wings beat against skin
Around the wound quickly,
Faster than the woman
Who gave me this disease
Could bat her eyes. I told
Her she had a nice ass
And her brother gave me scars
Cutting arcs, half silver
Half red in the air
and into my face.

The insect stops its wings,
And I wish I could help.
Lunging for the sky, beating
Its wings fiercely, I feel her leg
Loosening in my lesion,
Until she flies off. I look
At my open sore and see her leg,

Danlowlite's Poems

Par"e*sis (?), n. [NL., from Gr. , fr. to let go; from + to send.] Med.

Incomplete paralysis, affecting motion but not sensation.


© Webster 1913.

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