hand of the city streets
a contact high
full of suns below
greenish gay skies
full of drifting death scents
power unto teasing children
rodents dodge us
low speaker
cool brave steamy
tease with fingers
flying mortal flags
flowers and puddles
toxic breaks in the loud asphalt
swimming in rare animals
fast as the gods allow
vibrate stolen
breath it in
play games with the Jones
making deep circles
making entrenchments
damning mother
the light comes
the winds and murder.
~Mark Byars August 2011
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