Today's poem is by Amy King

A Ghost is Born

Hissing news opens for ensuing
cow spotted and I get it
from the colder coffee leaves
browns and blacks, I get it
from my sins just to get what I like
the looks of as in a dedication
of hatchets to all things wooden.
One feature of the door was
a well-oiled hinge beaten to a creak
by husbandry's action that carries
us across a locking leaf, elapsing
me into me into I unto thee,
thyself or not. Trust us not
to torture our prisoners
and other non-methods
of the train that relocates
flesh pounds on steam
where another soldier stayed
beneath his ruby-red grief.
Peasant toads alert the roadside
reeds, then underside words wind-
whistle leap frog games, selfsame
to surely topple. Parked hybrids
of the world unite
the value of a heart upon
a flapping flea's breath
guaranteed pre-death,
the most real and alive
perfect engine in brief.
In the tulip of sleep, tulip or street,
we worried without far to part.

Copyright © 2007 Amy King All rights reserved
from I'm The Man Who Loves You
BlazeVOX [books]
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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