Zane Grey Lied by Rex Myers

Sage is not purple, but rather

Dark stemmed bouquets of blue/green and grey

Scattered higgledy-piggledy like dirty broccoli

Across brindled vistas

Paisley vegetation clinging to landscape

Season-worn with foot traffic of aridity.

 

White, false promise clouds with flat black bottoms leak virga

Racing unseen winds visible as faith

Swirling psychedelic shapes across prairie potholes

Framing itinerant coots as flotsam in dissolved water

Echoed in flapping fence-snared plastic bag totems

Prayer flags to material spirits.

 

Cattails stand akimbo as abandoned drum majors

Long gossamer dust trails march parallel to fence line

Gravel roads ricocheting pinballs in wheel wells

Right turn off pavement toward infinity.

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Categories: Issue 1 - Fall 2011, Periodicals, Poetry | Leave a comment

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