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A Poem: Spring Bone 

Evens and odds: chance laughter in the street.
I watch you growing, hopscotch and bone, such hope

my mouth circles the song you can’t stop: oh
the sudden, breakable you. Who said we were all

odds and ends? This is where it starts. Four,
always this damned four: season, limb, wall.

I remember, even at five
that first tear in my misaligned

cartilage. Let’s circle, you say. I can deal
with wagons, the past, rising, tensely: chance it

even with your laughter
the oh I dare not fathom.

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Karl Meade.

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