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Ode to Clint Eastwood

This is the land I love.

When I love it is like I am dying
to make a very moving story.

When I move it is like I am dying
to make a story that you love.

Skyline, stranger, bullet hole of light,
they say there is nothing
but unjust clouds to break us

into morning. Not the past,
a promise, a polygraph tricked.
Not bad ibuprofen, not Namaste.

We escape to perfect, empty streets,
angry women. We never escape.

Clint, your very name
sounds like scowling at the sunset.

Do I feel lucky? Only if you do.
Posted 11/11/12
Originally published by U City Review, June 2012.
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