Saturday, January 28, 2017

I anchor my life to a cloud
and I am wheeled away.
Days in the painter's cabin
conceiving of nothingness
draped in endless purple.

Cutting thought from sad flesh
wind tapering into the aftermath.
Clothed pinnacles towering wheat.
Knuckles on the dashboard
highways eating mud
high orange needles manifesting
through the dark narrow tree'd roads.

Bridges of the concrete eagle
cracking the glass of city hall's door.

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