national poetry month, day 24.

I love this. It’s luscious, it’s funny, it’s liberally sprinkled with ampersands. It puts the stress and wrangle of taxes in its place. Also “Weekend’s ample/procrastinations to forget the least/of what we want to do,” which is something I’m trying to get better about. Obviously this would have been better on the 15th, but I didn’t find it until several days later. Via the Poetry Magazine Tumblr.

Sex and Taxes
by Kevin Cantwell

      Plum black & the blush white of an apple
shoulder, melon & cream, in tones to list
      the flesh; in light, washed colors off at last
& textures sheer with damp I slowly pull
      from you with your quick help. Weekend’s ample
procrastinations to forget the least
      of what we want to do. April, half a blast
of cold, half new light, green & simple.
      Now dusk. Now fear. We pencil what we owe
on this short form, our numbers good enough.
      The goose-neck glare undoes how we spent the day.
Each bite each bee-sting kiss each bitten O
      all aftertaste. Later, at the drop-off,
      postmark queue, we joke: “Now we can die!”

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