![]() Stead: in the phrase at night.A Poem by h d e rushinMy sister said the doctor was just dead wrong about her weight loss. (and i'm wondering if I can even mention such a thing in a poem?) But why not? Poetry skims truth away from life since we are all so besieged by hurt anyways. May as well use secrecy as a sort of sorcery. Like leaves that exist in thin layers without eyelid of photosynthesis. What? Like leant, the alternative past tense and past participle of lean: I leant my sisters girlfriend my good sweater and she busted the top button off. "Weight just jumps on your thighs, even your shoulders" she said. And it is night exactly when the lore of beauty visits Nana who sleeps in her long leg girdle with the satin front squeezing her insides. Through shallow breaths she says that Kim Kardashian's shape isn't real either. Forever I so wish the wounded had their day. Mental illness without that medicine regimen. Weight gain without the thongs of want pulling you, pulling you, carrying away your soluble softness. There's a scientific term for flicker or phosphorescence/ Like the figurative darkness of a well loved garden. Let those roses that can still do so, lean away on their stems.....towards the sun.
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