Air
Aristotle lay waking one morning listening
to his lover snore softly
as though the world
passed through the boy's nose like breathe;
and then farted, soft and round,
a dollop of dough pinched
from his cheeks. His lover did not wake.
A man must push
melancholy from himself like air.
C.L. Bledsoe
Posted over on My Favorite Bullet
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