for my sister
a poem by Stuart Gunter
I figured you were up to your eyeballs in alligators
but I’d rather have my eyeballs pecked by chickens,
grazing fresh moth ears as I construct a weir for my
mouth, to catch the words and set them in the sparkling
water of your face, dark as a hole in the world.
These are only mistakes if you leave them alone and fail
to take them up as tools. Live each day like it’s gonna
be your last: one day you’ll be right–the electric stations
are places to honeymoon, and I declare my instant significance.
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