Never Not in the Middle

On little couch, I’m tight between
my youngest son and Love.

There’s the obvious:
Earth and sun.

I’ve been between a cabin
And Salida twenty years.

Wandering a sagebrush dream
Between abstract and concrete.

Incision and Death.
Prairie fog, white Leadville breath.

Mope and door.
Silence and the ringing ear.

Empty freezer,
Black boar.

Speckled hen,
running cow.



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