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P
o
e
m
s

Industrial mushroom

highway moon

pearl rimmed indigo

in sunset’s glut

of orange

 

dwarfing the yard

of auto parts

and plastic bags

and bulldozers

howling to raze the town,

and windows prickled

with interstate light

and couples who fight

in the basement

so noise does not carry.

 

Faraway martyr,

you hold the water,

you cast the pull

that fathoms us to sleep.

 

No planet

but your chamber—

locked away

until we need you

when the fires arrive

your violet eye will open

oh I know it

we’ll be saved.