Firestone Friday: Poem XVIII

You speak

different languages

between

the morning

and

the night,

and I love

the way

my name

sounds

in every

single

one

of them.

(Happy Valentine’s Day.)

Movement

With a thousand poems,

I try to tell you

how I feel about you,

but, with every failed lyric,

it’s clearer that

my passion

can only be expressed

with movement.

Firestone Friday: Poem XVI

We’re all full of holes,

trying, desperately, to become wholes —

swelling, inserting, filling ourselves

with things as dispensable as they are harmful,

and we look over our

needles, nicotine, nudity, and nights

only long enough to wage

merciless judgments against

our neighbor’s holes-filler.

Strong Language by Logan Gorg

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