the canyon
eighteen
miles
forgot knapsack—
beware
of his Kerouac
don’t nustle
the
rabid pews
change lanes
on
the bypass
Joseph and I take the path
of
forgiveness
butterflies in prayer
kneeling
wings
on copper wire—
who does that anymore?
the canyon
doctor
asleep
in
the back seat
summer
hawk
nowhere
bends the sky blue
my
iris
side street—
lost
in colloquial lake
laying naked beside us
the last
good
man
a
working poet—
noon
a
couple years
hung or
shot
on Pearl—
what is the nature of misinformation?
barren opal guise of God
painted in Long’s Peak basin
gutted brain belly
exposed
as jelly fish—
the
ocean
does not compromise
width
for substantial evidence—
the
canyon
with
two
headlights
red rider gun transmission
hob goblin in the cockpit
cat woman drives high
through rock fall
road paint and mountain lion.
the radio eludes us
the canyon
the old
take Heaven’s granite tollbooth
the big book—
what
will our names say?
sun
is pertaining
to
the fire place
cold embers
mark off time
in hash-tag landmarks
metal skeleton mailbox
immobile
on
the crest of coming hill—
climb
up us
the
canyon
the
cold night rises each mile—
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