Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Nine Winter 2005 |
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Have your bacon and eggs, have your toast Rebecca Loudon You're right, of course, I hurt myself on purpose, visit houses where you live, your ghoulish Avon Lady, your Mormon missionary, your own personal Watchtower, cower on the porch ready to take you to Heaven, hunt the rooms in which you sleep, crouch behind the door, the privet hedge, peep through the eyeholes carved in the goose in the gingham dress. I have no shame and sometimes I do. I bolt out of bed on fire every Monday morning, drag half the lake to find you. |
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About Rebecca Loudon |