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Independence

We are famous friends, here to get drunk,

stoned, here for the fireworks,

the night of Independence Day.

Ovals spawning xeroxed ovals across a gassy sky,

each boom pursuing its fiery halo. Happy marriage!

someone cries. I do, I don’t,

I might someday. Here’s to the stars and bars!

To my bed, and you having nowhere else to go—

bring a kiss, not your clothes… To the sky!

bright as a bottle shard… To optimism,

and all the states, even the boring ones.

I know you… the skin graft on your cheek,

your lost dog, your can’t-sleep. I might as well

be your own hand. Jesus Christ!—

take off his ring, keep it off,

and put a ring on me.

from Charms Against LightningFind it in the library

Copyright © 2012 James Arthur
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Copper Canyon Press.

Published in James Arthur Poems

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