Flannel

by Joshua Hart


Sky hot
like breathing
face first into
a mug
of coffee.
I had visions of mexico
and beatles and booze.
Are we finished yet?
Have we even begun?
The embittered wives
trample through
the information highway
and we might be alone
and we might be all together
and it stings like
clothes tags on the back
of your neck and goddamn,
goddamn father,
father of rosaries,
father of circuitry,
father of midnight,
father of magic,

tell me if I’m alone.
Tell me who I need
to speak to
and what we have
to speak about.
Father
tell me who I need to touch
and tell me
how it will make me feel.

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