Poetry from David Bankson



I regret,
like coiled flowers I burst when loosed,
but the loosing is part of who I am.

I could never stop that sort of liquid:
a river rushing through my teeth,
rushing through my veins,

leaving an imprint
on the memory-foam mattress,
crusted with a coat of flesh

where I used to lay my heart.
It's the voice of second-person
recognizing my fervent thoughts--

You aren't good enough
for the love which you seek.
I regret,

therefore I am
salt in a potted plant.
It is vined l...


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