by Steve Calamars
end like plane crashes
nose-dives into shallow
green fields
spilling into an overflow
of flying parts and
burning wreckage
where the women
i’ve grounded spring up
like sunflowers and are
picked by more interested
men with green thumbs
and soiled minds
while i sink down into
my own fertile imagination
sprouting poems
and watching the fruits of
my loneliness rot in my skull
till they fall and ferment
in my brain
sweetening my thoughts
and allowing me to intoxicate
a new girl with my words
who gitty and under the influence
will lower her defenses
and trust that with me
at the controls
our love will soar
in safer skies—
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