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O Professor Of Sorrow (from Ruthless Grip Poems)
Some poems are gifts,
some poems are wars,
and some poems are prayers.
I'm a vat of bubbling bitterness.
I love each one of you so much it hurts.
I'm crying them fat old raindrops
while a murdered serial killer
wipes away the tears of the scared dead children.
Two wrongs make a night
and I make it long.
We're evolving at the speed of love,
the holy place begins beneath your feet,
and everybody's saved or no one is.
Your face is writ all through my heart.
This poem appears in the 2004 Anthology
View all poems by Chris Toll