12.30.2004

tiny dusk

12/30/04

the black looms above like the roiling
beasts of the dustbowl south
the city on fire, lit up in pinpricks
and out there, far in the distance, lies a
mother’s thighs, mountains and clouds
driving a mound of pumpkin and green
down towards the sunlight that died
in a perfect moment of amazement

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