poetry & things


In this city house amid the screaming sirens,

here in the whirling of paper and garbage

I hear the banging of trucks over broken roads,

low rider stereos, their deep boomed, throaty moans.

Here in this strange forest that flies with cactus birds

alluringly they sing in secret symphonies,

before the howling chorus of coyote calls,

the rising magnetic moon, a mountain flower

pink blushed that fully blooms.

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