The human sud

To Mexico through Italy they sang their song
& naked then clothed they righted their wrongs.

These men they were children
never washed & never mended
or never forgiven, ever offended,
upon each other like broiled meat
in foreign rooms, in slicking heat.
Forward forth, south on north–
then the others yearning approached.
It was early, the dark encroached,
the molding dew young, their fingers rung
& wrought each hand on hand;
they would sweat, would pet,
would right their wrongs
if ever they swallowed each other’s song.
Their nudity traveled four hundred miles
through fifty miles through four feet
together under the dirt, unbothered,
smelling of moss & a flower seed
which was itself nowhere near their heads
or their neck of the woods, their tethers slim
& miles away from their middles
& the rest of them.

Somewhere out there a handful of parents
held on to their guilt. Never would wear it.

~ by Jeremy on May 25, 2010.

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