a prurient thrill vibrates along an edge
the way a dog follows each forkful we eat
you still want more than what’s on the page
more than what easily falls to the floor
some crumb you could mistake for a key
some woodsman’s blaze toward the heart
any way defines these darker trees
between the marks and lines nothing remains
even the air is too thick to breathe
(October 14, 2013)
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