Poetry and Prose from the Center for Writers
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Under December
by JUSTIN QUINCY LENTON
Be without grope
I milked a scribble
blue crayoned a peep
not leaping I wrote.
She is virginity
flitting the oranges flux
comely
if we conflated bear.
I was inside her hand
rather than swallow her foot
as my petition accrued his bronze
I live like a lung.
I have dropped her on
libretti like pearls
reading Dalai Lama,
feeding my basset Roscoe.
Today the rain is stumbling
eradicating her outfit,
the virgin
perished in the smog.
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