Poetry from David Bankson
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.
therefore I am
salt in a potted plant.
It is vined l...