178 I learn to be again light-minded. I bear pink shells around My neck. Not I -- they whisper withered of tides that hide inside Your flesh. My bracelets are the parasites sucking out of me The surfeit of your presence. They do -- not I -- grow hardened with The silver melting in your iris. My clothes -- not I -- collect The radiation of my longing. I am the blast. I have Exploded.







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IRENE CĂSAR
Confined Verse
Collected Poems

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