b o b m a r c a c c i |
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a man with a golden unicorn
in one hand
a bag on one arm and a backpack
walks in says
please can i have a cigaret please
sets the unicorn on the table
says this is mister unicorn
later on a woman
with gold-coin earrings
takes a seat where earlier the unicorn had sat
drinks mint tea
holds a book open
with one hand
with the other
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got asked
are you like one of those language-y poets
yes i speak it
i think everyone talks poetry all the time anyway
another woman says on another evening
green light illuminates us
no longer disguising our conversation
with our bodies
too weak to work a can-opener
and inappropriate
it just goes spilling slips
the real meaning of what
we’re speaking
we know the other more
where one plunders
the axe of some dumb fuck
plunges wonders
dark bird off the dark
cloud-backed sky
front of our lonely corkscrew
unblinking needlelark
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a man floats
these legs are running bang
a lake
a night without a moon
the eye begins to open
where is the woman
here is a ridiculous bird memories
a coffin
she does not know
he curls up under the weight
she says
he says
a snake is easier sometimes
their legs there are waterfalls
ribbon blades
her beads will break
this cold river
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California Vacavillain presently living and writing in Putignano, Italy. Recent work has appeared in Mad Hatters' Review, abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz, Otoliths and zafusy among others. Host of i-outlaw at http://i-outlaw.blogspot.com/. Read more about Bob on his blog: http://marcacci.blogspot.com/. |
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