Letter to Me. Get Off.

Pendant, what of it. Saint says the daisies are due

to bloom any second—
hold on–I Am.

Speaking of, I walked towards. You knew nothing
of it—broke windows to letter-me.

Whatever the wind-speak, Saint says

pendant swings in the belly
of my neck-bone. You broke

the door, said, had to

do it. Daisies are about to bloom,

I’ll write letters to the window, bend
myself into split of your hip.

I Am—Had to.

Saint Anthony, door, do you?

Walk towards, do it–-

I like the still, he said, you know, the wind-
speak of your body.

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