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Today's poem is by A.E. Stallings

Achilles
       

Ach! Ill ease,
All ails his sake,
All hail his clash.
Ask his likes:
He lacks his lass,
Alas, his law, his
Clause is cause—he
Slashes, slays, sacks,
Classes his kills
As skills: He slices clay, he
Seals his lease. I call
His kisses alkali,
His sex, silk ashes.
He's classical, his ilk:
I see his case, his heel,
Sick as lilies.
He chases a shale sill,
Hell's chilly hall—
Shaky isles hazy
As Hellas—keels, cauls.
Ice slakes his cells.
As lilacs cease,
His ache heals all.



Copyright © 2022 A.E. Stallings All rights reserved
from The Georgia Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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