Thursday, October 20, 2011


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

between bagpipe solos, lightning flashes.

A vision, the smallest bit of dead, of bent
necked swans taking flight from a lagoon.

A cross-eyed donkey perched upon the highest
stone to decipher the western wind. The low
lands have been stretched like medieval torture.

She spread the land like a gypsy.

Songs, theft, joy is what was sprinkled over
the pay phones, the waste water and sex shops.

The cricket warriors assembled, troops of
musical shields to muffle her gun shot laughter.


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