from: The Embrace
Pat Clifford
8.
This loss-shoved, croon-strapped fantasy is into something else.
Flack. Roberta Flack.
My body is certainly aware of this.
In fact is a reverse of the body.
It never wants vagrant aspiration to remember in its absence.
My ebb-embroidered lightning rods are all for her lost flashlights
suffrage certainly long since defensive
that I can’t keep rosaries out from each flask
organize his forgotten words
giving away the orders
12.
High wooded for careful chapter sunlight
a snuff hum
late-day and turreted posters
A noble pop really
as careful temperament no crucifix
freight the sky with altering
Why are you running away