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I


When did I learn the word ďIĒ?
What a mistake. For some,
    it may be a placeholder,
    for me itís a contagion.
For some, itís a thin line, a bare wisp,
    just enough to be somewhere
    among the gorgeous troublesome youís.
For me, itís a thorn, a spike, its slimness
    a deceit, camouflaged like a stick insect:
    touch it and it becomes what it is:
ravenous slit, vertical cut, little boy
    standing upright in his white
    communion suit and black secret.


Michael Ryan

Poetry

July / August 2013


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