I imagine a dancing body
In one deck of playing cards a lifetime concert:
Spanish guitars and stickers, laughing white weeds.
Where this cotton used to be: peanuts.
I am filled with strange blood, I am armed with Bermuda.
Save the fireflies, cut the lights on. What is with these broken wings, this chorus of cordless feet movin the marvelous words pulling weeds:
Irrigation pipes and engines, an intricate pulse-maze.
Where this crop circle used to be: a manger.
I see the song in the flesh, the lightest rug and see-through face; facsimile nation, leash this broken star, enliven graves. What is with this pool of scenery, these symbols and holy human shadows?
What is with this place?
Chris Weige | Somewhere on Earth | Share a key intuit