A Sunday Morning Offering

Jonathan Callies

Kiss my lips like coins

Kiss a beggar’s


Cup – Firm in its softness.

An affirmation of love’s


Neologism when words themselves are stale.

When people grow up grow senile


And wonder why birds congregate

Around park benches; the confusion of holding


Bread at dusk.

How drinking water in a vase leaves


The flowers with one outcome. How when

The pen forgets paper


Language is still-




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