Sunday, July 12, 2015

The Core of Our Moon is Iron

The Core of Our Moon is Iron

Miles traveled are points in the game of mistakes.
The sun rises bronzy... soon turns brimstone-yellow.

The little faces the sky makes jiggle and jump...
and it's a joke for some dry-humor god.

And within recall:
the rumble of fractured bottom ground,
rock climbing rock to new elevation.

Lily skin, lavender shawl, tight greenish jeans,
Go... we should go somewhere.  She also said,

Nobody really feeds the heart-sprawled...
certainly not little banjo players.  On the corners.

You sit, flask of bourbon-water: the sun thrill-rises sulfuric
through basalt dust and grass-fire, sagebrush smoke.

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