Friday, December 23, 2016

From a quartz perch
stung in its fractures
by the dreamed body passing
I speak from my kneecaps
with darts of fire to a tall mouth.

Nobody is talking in the moss highlands
where icy moons carved
a railroad canyon's sides'
homesickness for dynamite.

Posts on electric hill
twitching toward collapsing markets
with a leer in torn plateau
like a ragged knife wound
burning needles and no gold tin.

Herded redwoods sending
cinematic shivers through
the wanderers of sex.

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