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 Mar 2015 Reece AJ Chambers
Molly
I know boys that have smoked for seven years
and quit for a year
and they're not even twenty.

I know boys that eat
sandwiches
with black hands
black from motor oil and tar
and shower four times a day.

I know boys, I love boys
that can fix cars, milk cows,
get up at six and drive two hours
to work
with three hours sleep
still drunk from the night before
and never puke.

I breathe boys that smell of slurry,
silage, and turf fires
that shout
things about tractors that I can't understand.
Smoke joints at 8AM before work
and reckon they work harder for it.

I love FÁS boys.
Untrained boys,
rough and ready, picked at the seam boys,
home boys, lover boys, my boys,
curse like a sailor and hand on my thigh boys.

"You should stop picking men
based on their ability
to open beer bottles with their teeth"
said Mam. But I love those boys,
those earthy boys,
those make me feel alive boys.
 Mar 2015 Reece AJ Chambers
kelia
the kind of girl your parents won’t approve of-
bony kneed with dollar store colors in her hair
crazy eyed- the kind of girl that would lie
while telling you secrets and pretending they’re scars
speaking in spaghetti for dinner, gluten free
takes the handful of change and keeps it
spitting on parking metres and acts as if
sipping cough syrup and swallowing your ***
(you love her sticky palms)
was enough to survive suburbia
the kind of girl that writes your address under her lips
so she can find her way home after tequila and tacos
and keep your initials wet all the time
Kindness glides about my house.
Dame Kindness, she is so nice!
The blue and red jewels of her rings smoke
In the windows, the mirrors
Are filling with smiles.

What is so real as the cry of a child?
A rabbit's cry may be wilder
But it has no soul.
Sugar can cure everything, so Kindness says.
Sugar is a necessary fluid,

Its crystals a little poultice.
O kindness, kindness
Sweetly picking up pieces!
My Japanese silks, desperate butterflies,
May be pinned any minute, anesthetized.

And here you come, with a cup of tea
Wreathed in steam.
The blood jet is poetry,
There is no stopping it.
You hand me two children, two roses.
he got caught;
yes I got him
caught on the
edge of 2nd &

                crux,
he turns to me
on eyes glazed
through a pane
of his car, white
balloon balancing
the pretty cast
of his head. It

serves the eye -
it isn't quite there
as I move closer,
parallel to collide
as sensations start
to crunch.
Cast of David, beauty in the moment, love in the construction of destruction.
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