Πέμπτη, 22 Ιουνίου 2017

For Frida | Γιώργος Ασκαλίδης


Sparrow with a throat full of dry blood.

I have awaited the booming advent of springtime.

You’re elsewhere but your postal card’s unsigned.

Pinky promise, I can come up with a million different ways to count the branches of your veins.

Toss me a bottle I can baptize and wrap my mouth around.

Promise you, I’ll look elsewhere every time your fella makes one of his dumb jokes in the parking lot.

Rapt and paralyzed under the piercing thought of looking up your phone number.

Is it the toughness in you I’ve blurred out of reality?

Or am I to blame for you’ve cut your hair?

Sparrow with a throat full of dry blood.

Is that why you hum your twisted hyms no longer?


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