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by Alan Harris
Beneath my friendly laugh,
down where you can't see--

Quiet, warm worms
from a soiled past.
No needs have they,
secure in my all.

They meditate behind
my generosity,
ride calm and innocent
in my essence,
come with me everywhere
through anger,

I must apologize.
Not even a fish would want them.

Anyway--here, meet my worms.
They have no names.

Do yours?

From the book Heartclips (1996)

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