Jennifer Tynes
HOUSES ARE STILL STANDING
No one traveling through the country
eats at the side of the road. A blanket demeans
a body with small stains that carry across the lawn.
It doesn’t scream anything in particular
when I buy condoms from the machine. In a very primitive way
we knew what was coming. After our excursion through
the Alleghenies, indelicate dreamlife in which cancers
grind each other in the wash.
Growing out of the practice of gathering long tables
to my chest, my gratitude for the idea that attaches itself
to the animal is no longer bore out
by any solid article. I take your hand.
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