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the tall grass

i have become the collective crumbling husk of my country’s grain elevators in the dark night i shoot coyotes with northern lights from my eyes in 8mm film clips one frame at a time spliced to bleed out into watercolor skies for painters who would burn in hell for a brush stroke that could define the parallels and meridians of this place where sailors navigate in dreams and fear what waits for them in the tall grass more than what sleeps on the ocean’s floor. 

Posted 08/04/14
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