The Surge & Still


I had a friend
who, grown on corn in south Texas

lamented the lack of people

for she saw

only dry land stretched like a fried gut spotted with tumbleweed

I had a friend

who grown on concrete and painted faces, bricked up in city smite

longed to rid herself of bussle

walk out into emptiness like

a star explorer

I knew both the longing and insilubrious pull

of city magnet

its desolation and feeling apart in a crowd

the surge and still

of expectation and liquor

I knew the raw blister of

a pure and scathing emptiness

nursing a need to create syllable of void

two extremes, no unity

can betwix between as jugglers, relieved of balance will continue motion

I was born in cold city breast

disgorging from its loins the dour faced babes of 21st century ad-lib

my elbows broken at gold vein

between reaching and closing…

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