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Celibacy 1

Unmarried, the heart ejaculates

what it must, scarlet-purled, arterial,

away, away. Or conversely, married,

it requires all—venous, freighted with waste.

Fuck the heart. On the radio,

driving home, I learn the Brits

are into all things Scandinavian.

Sunlit schools, bare breasts, the Aurora Borealis.

A “scandi trance.” Maybe. Ice is a mystery

of whatever blue enchantment swiped

my view this morning. This is no allegory.

I’m north of myself these days

with a fist full of silver keys

I lose every night in my dreams.

from OrexiaFind it in the library

Copyright © Persea Books 2017
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Persea Books.

Published in Lisa Russ Spaar Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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