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David Bartone



Happy the airplanes look gray today

Gray bellied so I am a fish on the floor looking up at another fish near the roof

Happy the neighbor

Is a marksman for they hang their egos out for neighbors to stare at

So happy in the idea of adultery

The truth tower

What you can’t come on a Friday night will wait for you at Saturday morning

You in her robe

Making bad coffee from her fine machine

The smell on you a bit more like gasoline which you illegally liked as a boy as well

What’s the next image   God on a swing tapping boy dirt from his cleats

The devil the boulderer 


Just that there   the moment you called her neighbor the marksman yours 

And so what’s faith   the moment you’ll have to fall in love with your real love

Which better be the exact moment you see her next

Or the whole history of containing all this having always happened within you gone to pot

Faith is the figuring of it out afterwards

Which only means you have the oven-sized loneliness of no one warning you

An oven you might have easily left on 

The easier the danger the chancier the pursed lips become giant stops

Along a five foot six walk

The hands do too fast

Thinking the urge for patience if noticed is enough

And now this is guilt   the needing faith to be a bit more than it really is 

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