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Red Ribbon on a Black Jacket

by Ryan Nardi

I'm starving the paper
and nothing's fallen out yet.
The words look like flesh,
and they're seared but not savory.

The tunnel has a fourth wall,
nothing but quartz,
for a diamond mine
this one's got pie-tins of dirt.

Bull's shit miraculous
fevering very odd wood-monkeys.
Nonetheless,
ping-pong is irritating.

I've got the answers
to questions that nobody's asked.
And I'm furious--
smoke clouds my ass.

03/18/2008

Author's Note: rewriting an ethics paper. stopped to do this.

Posted on 03/18/2008
Copyright © 2024 Ryan Nardi

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Mary Frances Spencer on 03/19/08 at 04:22 AM

Hmmm......there is more here I think. Leaves me hanging. MFS

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