Note: This final poem of the month is composed of the last lines from the other poems that I wrote during November.
I didn't even need to use my teeth
spiders hidden underneath comfort
this is when I know
(I) will be turned to stone
applause never meant a thing.
There is nothing left to bless us and send us on our way
anything that doesn't struggle in the sticky silk.
I'll take it, I'll take it all
or anything, really, that might sustain you.
What will we invent to give ourselves one more step along the path
like disposable razors?
Face as pale as his
better than that:
hundreds of millions of miles
steeped in grace
(which) results in starvation
and a soft glow of red.
The goddess of love regrets to inform you that she hates poetry
the pockets empty, the nest
to someone else.
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