ODE TO A DEPARTED LOVER AT DAYBREAK


O, my plum! My lump!
Somber stone of
my awakening.

Above the weeping table
your scent hangs
heavy as an iron kettle.

I drown in the chipped bowl
of your laughter, deserted
like the dwarf whores at dawn.



(Deeplip, who

1) makes fun of Pablo Neruda because she can
2) knows she will never get a grant, and
3) doesn't give a shit.)