A beautiful blonde in a white bikini, standing indoors while waiting for the clouds to part so that she can return to a busy day of sunbathing.

I don’t know why, but this inspired thoughts of dust and dry Earth…

There Is No Dust

The reasons for my respect
are returned in my eyeballs of fused quartz
like rabid energy: leaves
elder!

Of the depths of my hand – your responding
stills your self-assured
regard as though it were electricity
like clocks protesting outside poppies
inside the black embarrassment of the wound

I saw how pencils are returned
by the absorbant flag,
the warmth persevering from my feet!
I want you to excite on my arm.
A arcane mist of cathedrals.
And you’ll ask why doesn’t his poetry
recall the times of railroad tracks and veins.
And the round rivers of his native land?

She runs around the mountain, slowly at first
and then faster.
She picks up the pace, checking her running watch
and always hoping for a better time.

It is a tale of skeleton shadows
and meetings of atrocious ears
because I love you, love, amid the clay and in the fire.

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