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Dada taught me cards.Sitting in his suit of pants and vest.A fistful of joker-red hair strewn across his brow.His big belly like a cannon ball.
Dada has stories from Calcuttawrapped up in his big belly.When he belched they would unravel.
We watch them, hypnotized.Pale and mysterious,They rise and fall. Joe says“They look like ghosts.”
Toothless, she kisseswith fleshy lipsrounded, like mouthof a bottle, all wet
She bruises your facealmost, with twoloving tree-root hands.
My love is like a well-read bookwhich makes me smile each time I look.It shouts and whispers, roars and singsit grounds me and it gives me wings.