Monday, January 6, 2014

GOD REST YE

Ecstatic—graceless 
my lips 

chapped and half-
parted 

are still—in January

kissing—
back against 

your own course 
pair from this 

past Christmas in quivering
sympathy;

or, at least, in what still
feels like the residual 

static
friction of some past

conversation—one that concerned
the extent to which joy—

true Joy!—
is actually about

the North-Pole-
farthest 

feeling in the world away
from comfort.

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