Sore Desires
You don't see that I grind my teeth all nights
So that my morning spit is tinted red
But I smile instead
I want to be like Roethke and Bishop--
painting with ink
If the pen bleeds freely
maybe my gums won't
America's Children in ENGL
I am a yellow apple writing poems in your class
A slowly dripping caramel voice glides over my cracked skin
I glance to see if it seeps into my neighbor's soul
as it does mine.
But we are in crates to be shipped to factory-less Washington.
To be eaten or displayed
So my classmates sit silently and stoically,
dazzled and bewildered
As they watch the caramel flow in this touch of paradise
I am better
Only once or twice or trice
Am I filled with loathing glee
As teasers from my past-in public- recognize me
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