Broken

My body is broken in so many places.
Paul Newman, can you fix me?
Surely by now you've pressed
lips to hem, spun Saturn's rings,
drunk from the Chalice 
of sacred secrets.

Paul Newman, heal me with your kiss.
Joanne won't mind.
She knows you still drift home every night, 
light as worn lace, immersing her dreams 
in blue memory.




Pris Campbell
©2009







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