Leveler Poetry Journal
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It’s Not My Opinion


The money is gone,
but the apartment is washed clean and pearlescent
and you are cooking les pommes de terre for this earthy hour of evening
as the brow I have felt helplessly balloon brokenly renounces worry
and your voice of gold and jet leaps to invite the beggar New York moon into our home
taste a milky breeze purling through the pacific window
gazing on the ecstatic stars seen hundreds of years from their former selves
and in Washington Heights the granite cliff’s sparkling black corresponds
to the idea of mermaids and nightingales
I must confess that my imagination is a rogue but you are richer for it
it’s the kudzu of my hunger that worries me, even you undevourable as the sea!
Let me be not that kind of death, the monotone, the abundantly poor:
be then the coral reef, and I will be an infinite diversity of birdfish.

Robert Cunningham