deepundergroundpoetry.com
Isolated objects (roadside incident)
Thought I was laying in my garden
with my hands deep in soil
but I was there on an island
shooting flares at Your boat---Nathan Willett
Broken across the back of once heralded halos
out in the open fields
tires burnin' dark
paste the flesh orange
ripping it up again
another black stain on history
passed through our hands
tattooed on their backs
and where have their windows
with rocks in every corner
brought home
I don't know
For the curtain is shut
optimistic and sure we are
original
dancing shadows
to rumor mill
swinging silencers
...and You just stand there gawking
with one flat tire
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