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David James |
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LAST THING A MAN WOULD EVER SAY "Sometimes, I just want to be held." Scott Epstein It could happen. Most of us guys, deep down, way, way down, like down a blackhole burrowing into their bodies, somewhere toward the core, somewhere out of sight and sound, have a tender side, a side that blushes and wants to cuddle up with extra blankets, a sappy romance novel, and just the touch of a woman's smooth leg against leg, thigh on thigh. On some level, we all want to be held, and not where you're thinking, but held like a good friend or cousin or the way a mother wraps herself around her infant, with humming and quiet words and the vague chance of a brand new life. THE WORLD FALLS (a ghazal) My backyard is littered with apples: Moist, rotting, sweet-smelling little skulls. This autumn is like no other, yet Like all others. Something inside pulls. The bets are off. The verdict is in. My love for you drifts away and rolls. My eye is the color of trees, my Mouth, a sky, my skin is yellow, gold. There is never enough air to go Around. May the gods be merciful. I turn, I shed, I fall. Words beat me Until my life is reeking with holes. In the early sun, I walk out and The world falls to its knees on apples. |