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Sunday, Feb. 12, 2012

Things This Thing Called I Loved

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Stepping off the busy street                          Into an alley that opens
Into snow & space & ambiguous trees         Slipping out of the shadows
Into another's life                                          Of stillborn & suicidal siblings
Belt buckles & flying pots                              Running a finger along the gash

Against the bathroom door one more time   One learns to love distant things
Mountains & airports & approaching            The end of every given line
Rolling from bombings & blows                    Into sleep in the midday sun
Slipping from another's loving grip               Into cold & space & blinding light




After emerging from Milwaukee's baby factory, St. Joseph's Hospital, Jayson Iwen started moving... to Menomonee Falls, LaFarge, Luxemburg, Green Bay, Albuquerque, Milwaukee, Beirut, Madison, Yellow Springs, and now the Twin Ports, where he's currently cooling his heels in Lake Superior. He writes a lot, reads a lot more, and gets published once in awhile. If you like this poem, check out his book Six Trips in Two Directions, or keep your eyes peeled for Humon, for whenever someone has the good sense to publish it.