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Poem: The Fear of the Lemon 

I’m afraid—
I have blisters
on the inside
of my breast
and crow’s feet
and I am wet
like a baby
or a woman
who never found
what she was looking for

I’m afraid I’ve gone
at the roots
and yellow at the tips

I’m afraid:
my body sets up
in sections,
and it’s
some rude journey
from scalp to sole

I’m afraid my pores
have turned to liver spots—
nothing comes in
nothing goes out
but a soft warning
from my organs

I’m afraid, I’m afraid
I have small girls inside
pressing my bones
and veins
toward my skin

I’m afraid
in a city of
sour eyes
I am a quiet man’s
sweet wife

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Speaking of...

  • A poem by Max Rivinus


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