Poetry of Lips

             each year an   empire
      not a   poetry

 but of the lips
             multiplies    our labours

           duty tempts our reason
                    to    dash criminal habits spaceward
           and we would
         but for   our
       our oodles and oodles of
       digital moments

       and  cheap   human   glories
   we have begun to be        allegories of
we are strangely reduced to
                           the language of
                           our death throes
           asthma of unbelief
                   dialect of the damned

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can read it here for free, or get it for your e-reader on iBooks, Amazon or Kobo. Or you can just say you read the book, and donate five bucks down below. Go on.

Gabriel Muoio


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