By Adam “A.J.” Binash

He folded his wink
Like a Dog-Ear made
To place a Bible passage,
Or a poem
Among convenient founds.

Beside his patched skin,
On his lips
Of herpes sores and pockmarks,
Were marriage proposals;
To wearied housewives.
Lying abridged
(Or daisies)

But his contentment wasn’t directed toward flowers.

Rather the detergent-washed diamonds
On their fingers
Curled like gunshots
Inside forever goodbyes.

He lamented:
“I have no description for poverty,
But I do know what it means
To be hungry.”

One thought on “5.29.45

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