the curse of St. John.
all the wine fell down the lips of another day.
blackened and sweet the curse of st. john, said she.
i’ve come for my pardon, said i.
i flew past the best of them on my way
to kneel before the curse of st. john.
you had the pale plastic shine of a plaster removal
i carried my voice on a platter through the bars and toilets
looking to bargain with the curse of st. john.
i saw a man touch his toes with his heart
as he stooped over a bottle.
now there’s a lightning storm in the hallway
it sounds like the curse of st. john.
every man can hear his mother’s hopes in the walls
as behind him in an empty hotel room,
a change of government flickers on a tv set.
bank accounts change
but i still hear the bells ringing
for the curse of st. john.
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