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B.H. Godby 1986 (Berlin)

there was a place in the soul where i considered.
it was a long-lost triumph of personality.
in the quaking midriff of absolution i found you there.
there were no trees.
in the desert the men were baking eggs on the scouldrons
and their kamph was as honorable as a decent wish.
they were wise as cats driven near water
and the sound of the trumpeteer playing taps was like ice.
in the heat of the moonlust
i saw a crescent oportunity
to write a fag, to believe in the difference
between mediochre and what i want.
there is no plaintive state between deliverance
and military pride, maybe,
when the driven are the justifiable wrought in fire.
fire, yes, the heat was like fire
and i was only there for a minute.

About this poem

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Written on July 13, 2021

Submitted by bhgodby on July 30, 2021

39 sec read

B.H. Godby

I studied English at Princeton University, as well as classics and humanistic studies. more…

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    "scouldrons" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 24 Oct. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/106104/scouldrons>.

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