The nipple was a sharp object,
And so was the doorknob to life.
And the bright wings of birds.
The answer was a sharp object,
And the endless questioning lips.
The pages of books were sharp too.
The rebuke of the childish, sighs
Of lovers, picket-fences and
The hot pokers of marshmallows.
Silken pillows, pens, credit-cards.
Fresh water, salty water too,
Oil tankers, the point of a rifle,
The death rattle of a child.
The words of saints, infant’s feelings.
The feelings of an old senile man.
And the promises of the King.
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