POEMS
Anthony Barnett
IX
In
doubt I trust.
This angul ar fl ower
picked for you wants to speak.
And pl ease let it.
Pink, white
it
doesn ' t ma tter,
only take care, dear one,
what a hard, h arsh course
without retribution
as I don 't know you
wi ll.
x
I love your stocky,
yo ur hi gh cheekbones,
dark, dark , red, red.
My veins are swollen,
you
lift
your racket
and storm. I love your thi gh s
I see up.
I would like to ki ss you
and rub your pulled muscle.
X I
You and I stol e circa 2000 kroner from
I.
Who is
I?
We sUirounded th e peak.
For the fir st time grow lemons, oranges
and a solitary grapefruit.
