Today's poem is by David Kutz-Marks
Vapor is never itself these days,
clouded in streetlight and eyeing
a gutter and star,
dying both ways in a breath.
You and I trudging up cobblestones,
London like ruin,
a formlessness thought,
you and I dredging up stones.
And once there were oceans
violent inside us,
since we would not tear or cry ourselves open
we got fat and tired and dreamlike.
I am high as a kite right now
hit a snag in a tree,
the boy I was holding me gravely,
a gutter or star.
Copyright © 2012 David Kutz-Marks All rights reserved
from The Carolina Quarterly
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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