THESE MECHANICAL SKIES
These mechanical skies, they have no business
Opening into oblivion. I'm reluctant to stand
Under them lest my legs give out to whispers
From the jaws of a pop ontology quiz.
As one in her faraway city is safe behind clouds,
More days for me to wake up in are promises
Easy to believe but not to accept; they light
My way with untenable songs of their ends.
My Masts Are Made of Lightning; Your Ship Is Made of Waves Press - Traveling around Santa Fe this weekend. Road hair: Today I went to a flea market and held some fossilized clams; to see the St. John's College campus; and ...
5 hours ago