I would like to crown you with this beauty.
A thing of beauty is a felon.
A felon takes me out.
I would like to crown you with a thing-like beauty
Beneath the molting tree.
I would like to crown you until you are wealthy
And somber enough to eat.
My haunches turn to rubber,
My crown of honey—complete.
A nimble quake. A quiver.
The passage opens with healthy ships
Envenomed in a fetid mist.
A joyful felon stops and starts
To keep the briny ghost afloat.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan.
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