If I’m alone I know
it must be my moral
leprosy: why otherwise

The old cliché that all
a lover wants is a lover:
mouthing the darkness away.

You would call it neurosis, but
who among the best
of us isn’t sick of something?

There are so few words
I want to use:
for this fearsome beauty of loss

For what is earned, and
what is not:
for all these things I do not choose

©Dean Baker


©All Rights Reserved deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

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©Dean Baker

©All Rights Reserved deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

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