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Genna Kohlhardt

7 am & the sun

 

7 am & the sun

 

is unforgivable. The day arches

 

dull. This song reeks

 

of yesterday.  The tarp’s crinkle

 

is trying to tell you something. 

 

Morning’s chill light spreads

 

through the branches of their breath

 

like a slow river through silt.

 

They tuck into bridge

 

folds along the salty slump

 

of your river.  Between the two

 

directions of your road

 

something of her hair

 

reminds you.

 

 

 

POEM FOR KEATS

 

I. Man & Woman

 

Would he complain as she needles

his tongue into the precise

hem of her dress? Still

as the lace sweeping

her breastbone.

 

Gravity’s staccato’d arch-

enemy.

 

He records Autumn’s hazel as she floats

him over crabapple trees.

 

 

II. The way we open him up

 

Why are we disturbed

when the butterflies

are not moths? An out

of context blue.

 

 

III. Some questions for the man

 

What is hyper-real about the anticipation

of gravity? A heavy breath before jumping

into the lake. The way water

turns your skin alive.

 

Is it the body of your dream warming

your bed that finally kills you?  

Are your dreams bodied

when you are finally killed?

 

Did you think she could wrap

blue velvet around your organs

as the winter minnowed your lungs?



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