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Untitled (4/30/10)

July 6, 2010

half asleep,
traversing a giant
swath of post-storms,

past future worries,
diseases in insect bites on animal carcasses,
mirages and trash,

sand composed of not rocks,
not glass,
but particles of what once stood

proudly tall,
that ‘scraper on its side,

reminds me of every sideways glance you throw

shadows and sky,
among barriers of color
leaking through fences,

brought down by a heavy sigh

turned over to reveal meadows and branches,
sinewing out into light

your mouth tightly grasping why
as I fall away
back to a hinterland
that doesn’t know us

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