Other Music -- Barry Schwabsky

She liked him now, as she liked a memory.
—D.H. Lawrence

We joined the army
of never, met death
by extracts. But in

the leafy shade of what
hesitated eye
or pitched to whose

crucified lips? Dear
sunlit junk: I hunt
your traces even

in perfume
of rose petals—the red ones
of the variety "Deep

Secret," to be precise.
Their soundless waves
of live or die. Please,

deep breather, don't
melt. Love knows
fuck-all about love.

So we tortured
a couple of shadows.
Go get anger and dig me

a love six feet deep.
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