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May 012010
 

by
Daniella Mebert

 

Suppose we made amends and I came to live in you,

your main artery clogged with meandering

lovers, your street-veins sheathed with vendors,

your sidewalks, capillaries carrying people and other

waste products to their domestic or commercial

destinations.  You are the part that never sleeps;

there is always something to do in you, wherein lies

your danger.  Your heart beats a bass that tempts

too much, beckoning me to a farm-turned-street,

a synagogue for Greeks or bakery that serves music,

more of your topsy-turvy, upper-lower jokes.

 

Suppose we made amends and I came to live in you.

I will pay to live in a spacious, airy lung but wind up

in your cramped bowel.  You know that’s right,

but the idea of living in you intrigues me still.

In your tiny corpulence, life is boundless.