He Is Here, He Is Not Afraid Poem by Lora Cooley

He Is Here, He Is Not Afraid



Our hands wander blindly in a forest made of flesh
Our eyes speak in signals
Twist in patterns

The horror of a city handling suicide by cyanide
Completely inadequate
Like lovers

My fingers down your side
We sleep with shadows

Dress yourself in shame

Monday, November 28, 2011
Topic(s) of this poem: city,suicide
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