John Allen
Blind
i hold the blue shadow
of your pale fists
inside me
a bruised map of your
angry dreams, sitting
quietly within a
numb funhouse of rage
sliding on the
battered orchestra of
your tense veins, ready
to strike again with
my teary eyeballs
in these pink knuckles,
never sure
when or whom you
hit, only that
i will be here blind
as we both swell shut
Page(s) 16
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