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tiger balm :: ej koh

by on November 5, 2014

Yellow pears, basketfuls, relate to distance
between the you and the me—mu.

Startling up as you walk goosefooted
through my door. I am heavy.

I feel the continent under me. I am 99
percent hydrocarbon.

Through me, the cosmos can look at itself.
Come to the sink. Let me wash your feet.

Why do you call me embalmer
when my job is time mechanic?

Come with me. I know which home takes the turning,
which mind washes in hot water.

I am the shelter you need—
needle-threaded with the truth of dark wood.


From → poems

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