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, unplug the lights.
What is with these broken wings,
this chorus of cordless feet?
I stumble to a secret spot now
to move the marvelous words pulling weeds:
Irrigation pipe 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?
Chris Weige | Somewhere on Earth | Share a key intuit