noah ross


my luv

falls out of my

pockets loose

change


as metals melt

into limbs

of mine

affections


lay me

down in

sheets loose

as rentals


a man

a plan

a canal mine

asshole


there’s a

story here it’s

waiting on

the kettle


I wonder

where the

birds might

mate in winter


there’s a

saint here walking

down the aisles

in arrows


grateful

none of our

exes went

corporate


a wise

one a mage

or something of

that caliber


there’s a

meaning to

a namesake

of valor


something

golden in

the fields or in

a narrative


like a thread

to a bind

on a body or

the stanza


can’t shake

this feeling of

missing some

fabric


in or out of

reach like

the cupboard too

high


or a phrase

that ends

on the upbeat

not in question


there’s more

to a story

in the process

of writing


no mend to

this grove

where I’m

lying




noah ross//@n04h.docx

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