Canonized With Paint
My eyelids have heartburn I claim
As I rub the reflux from my cheek.
My chin shakes with dry-heaving
Sshh baby, rest, don't try to speak.
Nursemaids with old fairy tales
Hold my writhing sides for countless weeks
And kept the lint from my tongue
Until her vacant skies are numb;
Yet dark with misty disregard
Still somehow greener than my black thumb.
There's life inside this poisoned rum
Leeching thin and taut, food from thought
And ridicule from religion.
Rolling paraphrasing from my skin
More alive than nearly scary
All angles and elbows, arms and shins
With soft misquoted reverence
And an embrace that smells of love.
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