Monday, November 18, 2019

The coil in the rusted milk can
red porch every morning
dog trampled raw berry patches
frosted pine stick thistle berries
whales beached on the open rooftop
blanket bathrobe and rolling lawns
a shelf of high strung masks
representatives with charts,
the whole hippie wagon
then boiling captured dusk,
hair color linking the fleet
of pagan avatars.

And no sleek decided waiting,
no rims without countenance,
riverside foam stuck
from retracted waters,
honking shivering sax
and stripped shellfish,
piled into unity
with descending floors,
made to dance on a pillar of scum,
land's rug of eyes with nobody waiting.

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