Thursday, April 10, 2014

Rain / Dream: 12



Rain / Dream: 12

Dark week-old smeared porcupine:
the road slow-climbs north for a mile
past basalt... or is it theatre Styrofoam?
The players emerge in scene shop fabric
wolf skins... too scrawny, not enough
muscle to provoke fear.  You drive
past a Future Farmers of America
bake sale table, past a parade
of shaved-head kids in floral
hospital gowns, past a herd
of marine-blue, red-eyed rabbits.
You feel that you are bronzed...
have a halo, that you are luminous,
that you have left your sagebrush desert
for lush-green mountains, for forest lakes,
for sand-yellow cabins in pure sunlight...
where endless sleep is the only possibility.  

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