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pray tell me all your plans tonight
that I may live in them again
past president future running tight
as i most fortunate of men
rehearse this eve of your return
with staggering redemptive lust
for what we still have need to learn
before the ashes and the dust
i'll count the days i'll sing love songs
just let me know i hold your heart
the sun itself no more belongs
in mornings where we're left apart
imagine my insane embrace
when you return to haunt this place
This passage will not steer you sane
Or mend the dread insomnia
Won't dull the existential pain

Or promise heaven hears you call
A comforter no just these streets
Whose long acquaintance seeing all

The butts tossed down the crooked beats
That question every soul tonight
Who takes a step and then repeats

The essence of some second sight
Of mortal blood that cleans the stain
Of what is measured wrong or right

With blue ink borrowed you remain
As white frost settles in the lane
While we're here, come in,
Keep talking.  I can listen,
If nothing else
Explain what you want
I'll keep the music down
If I close my eyes it doesn't mean I'm not
Hearing you
Help yourself to anything--
I'd check the expirations
If you want to slip out during the night
Just pull the door closed
I don't worry that much about it being locked
Anymore, but while you're here
Tell me all about yourself
Bobby Copeland Dec 2020
The blue bear lying on its side
In the dumpster, atop the trash
Was meant for Kevin, apartment
Seven on the second storey,
Whose father came by but was not
Let in because an argument
Developed over missed payments
He admitted he should have made,
And wished he could have made, eight bucks
An hour and staying clean not
Being enough to pay his rent,
Restitution on the damaged
Trailer where he used to cook ****,
And avoid the repossession
Of his pickup truck.  Later he
Calls her, his baby mom, and asks
About Kevin, and if he can
Come back around, now that they've both
Had time to calm down, with the cash
He got for Christmas from his own
Dad, a little less than half what
He owes, but enough to help out,
And also, if she doesn't mind,
Since he'll be a minute getting
Back, will she go downstairs and check
The dumpster to see if the bear
Might yet be rescued and restored.
Bobby Copeland Dec 2020
If we were less impermanent,
We'd forge our nails as hard as god,
Whose only child had kinder skin,
And veins cascading mortal blood.
The straightened line must have an end,
Entropic and irreverent
As any long expected wind,
Ill-suited to the penitent,
And those alike, whose stoic gaze
Accepts the loss of thought and dream--
All aenema a passing phase--
A balanced crossing on a beam.
Forgive me if I say again,
Come touch the wound, come taste the skin.
Bobby Copeland Nov 2020
And in the new world, were you whole?
Or was it just another day
Of innuendo, particles rearranged
And your feet on different sidewalks
As you made your way each morning
To the new job, came home at night
To the new man, new inside jokes
And less accumulated pain?
Steve was a good man but he broke
Your girlish heart beyond repair
By losing interest in your touch,
And everything is touch, is tongues
And grooves and pieces of puzzles
That once seemed almost together.
Bobby Copeland Nov 2020
Long conversations are in order now,
This unrelenting season of decline,
Spent rearranging petals on the bough,
As pound for pound you always held your wine.
So come again and sit outside with me,
Beside the fire or under falling leaves.
I've never stopped imagining us free
To well regard the spider as she weaves,
Or god theirself though seldom ever pleased
By sacrificial gestures brought halfway,
Sick flowers you might save from their disease.
Eventually of course we've hell to pay.
So never mind the words I fail to say.
We'll find some comely mortal way to pray.
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