Friday, May 25, 2007

Long Way Down


She ran scantily
enveloped in aluminum foil
as the rain
ran down grey. A mindless taxiing between

bagpipe solos, lightning flashes to
greet her.

A vision, the smallest bit of
dead. The smell of bent necked
swans taking flight form
from the green lagoon escapes
the day.

A cross-eyed donkey perched
upon the highest stone, resting,

to decipher the western wind’s
code for go. The low lands have been
stretched like medieval torture fun.


She spread the land like a gypsy.
Songs, theft, joy is what was
sprinkled over the pay phones,
the waste water refineries.

The cricket warriors spread out,
troops of musical shields try to muffle

her gun shot laughter.

But her cold, cold life has left a
sightless fall down the years, weightless
death, prisoner of her own keepsakes.


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