Lay your tears to rest
in my skull like jewels,
to fray
my love for tragedy
and shake the world away.
..
This house is cold
inside summer ovens
of tar and butter,
where hammocks leave
crosshatched dreams
in my back.
…
Wild things and
paper routes;
a crossword puzzle
telling your life’s story
in riddles.
….
Maybe they can sting
[the heirloom habits]
like words in our eyes,
to dissolve yesterday’s
Bosnian rainbow.
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