Wednesday, January 14, 2009

From Nebraska up to Chicago [January 14th | 9/365]

The moon clocks back in
like a tall child in the night
at its parents' door,

right above the road.
It says, "You can't come up here;
I am not your home.

Go home on your shield."
Flowers lined this warpath, but
I couldn't smell them
through the stink of my helmet--
dumb drama of night.

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