what birds give up

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PANTUN FOR PARIS
:: POETRY

It’s Monday.
Let’s go to Paris.
My tongue,
hands, and hair
are dying for Paris.
Spread
my hands and hair
on the bed.
Spread
me nearly flat. Like a map
of the bed.
(You tourist.) Happen
upon this French flat, French map
French shore.
Tour what happened
here, or
what won’t.
My dumb tongue.
Yours. So.
It’s Monday.

 






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NEW
  Laughter
The Photographer
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Pantun for Paris
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The bad bird
I could talk for miles
Little Red Riding Hood
Bilge Water
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House of Borrowers
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How skirts lift
Scare
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In the Beginning
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Summer
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Mary
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Apartment
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Dawn Pendergast              |
spoon@clockwatching.net