baby 

Rummaging through

So many poems

The prophets have written 

Swaying between the

I identify so much with this

And not so much that

The words 

Rimbaud

Like glue

Like quicksand

On my attention span 

Maybe I’m not as dark as I thought I was 

Or maybe his soul is not for me

Sitting here on my lap

Is the

Buh 

Baby–

The only one for me–

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