Her Breath Greases Grip

Hair sweet movement – stops and starts

while breath fixing down, way down –

she hangs to life.

Oh, she sees no end in sight.

Poor baby lost in lust, an addiction to

white boys and servants.

This is final she kids him not.

No more, no less – just right.

A sweet serving and pass the salt.

Arms fixing hair while hands hang on.

Tight.

Her breath greases grip.

She held tight.

This doesn’t mean much if

you weren’t there to see.

If you were and she was – colored

paper rang all the news.

She sees no end in sight, so

she left her grip.

She fell six inches deep.

Canyon standards.

I say.

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About Barry Comer

I volunteer as a design and communications consultant with Family Scholar House in Louisville, Kentucky, http://www.familyscholarhouse.org the Democratic Socialists of America http://www.dsausa.org and teach children with emotional and developmental disabilities. I have degrees in art and was an art director for 30 years.
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