My Father’s Lips
you could pull me apart,
just beneath the surface,
slip scorn in my pocket,
has been grafted to grey matter,
look for a reason
more like my father’s everyday.
swore to never erupt.
But the genetic butterfly always escapes.
I sit at my computer,
I love you.
didn’t know what I had. I’m sorry. You were right.
(Insert ex-girlfriend here)
lined with desperation
when I needed
Blame is too strong.
broke each other’s hearts
I think of the skin we shared,
if on lonely nights
open the box and
I take them all back.
shooting star, brighter in his peripheral vision,
wants to forget the last few hours. Leave them on
the detonation of language will not subside. So he
pulse with fish and reptiles. Scaly visions
thoughts drift to a high-school
delayed again; it’s likely they’ll remain
Joshua Robert Conklin recently earned an MFA in Creative writing from Goddard College. A teacher by trade, he is currently devoting a year to exclusive work on writing projects including poetry, short fiction, and a family memoir. His poetry has been featured at Wild Child Publishing and is forthcoming in Ocean Magazine.
2006, Joshua Robert Conklin ©.
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