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Once

This poem first ran in the Fall 2013 edition of Grub Street Grackle

This poem first ran in the Fall 2013 edition of Grub Street Grackle

Life spelled itself in letters, black, tight-lipped:
I’ve bled my passions out in spates of ink.
The margins bloomed like flowers on a crypt.

Once, when my hands were empty, and I dipped
them in Night’s waters, there, I seemed to think,
life spelled itself in letters, black, tight-lipped.

So much was written there, the pages dripped
with more than time could bear or death could drink:
the margins bloomed like flowers on a crypt.

I came too late to mark the manuscript:
a seal bound it, on which in ancient ink
life spelled itself in letters, black, tight-lipped.

In desperate, errant strokes that shook and slipped,
I filled the text’s outside up to the brink.
The margins bloomed like flowers on a crypt.

I waited for the pages to be flipped,
till waiting out of time I seemed to sink.
Life spelled itself in letters, black, tight-lipped:
the margins bloomed like flowers on a crypt.


Original bio from the Fall 2013 edition:

Amos J. Hunt delegated his bio to a lazy and unrelialbe peerson who sometimes.dsdf….eh

 

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Imagine Dallas

The Grackle is a production of the 501(c)(3) nonprofit Imagine Dallas Literary Arts, Inc.