it’s divine
headache and muesli
sharp cotton
the smell of the gas processor
and the smiles of the harsh women
manning the snack tables
watching for UFOs
tagging their friends in tweets
as we begin the shakedown
this much for March
your life
this much for eternity
your marled face
each man
wonders at the shape of his horizon
orbiting the whirling dervish
of this millenial prize
horror out of time:
we each know the worth of the other
written over our scarves
the mounting terror of the night
and the light over the mountains
demons under the ground
and the shape of the stars
like the shape of your eyes
we’re marching into the basement
to photograph celebrities
and I’ve seen god
over the cement
one two three
one two three
the 1970s religion
and Shel Silverstein
shake my body into itself.
I stand ready with the water bottles
watching my country collapse
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