HOLLOWS & RIDGES

in darkness, touching
corners of pain

surrounded by fictions
and the most basic plots of movies

unlike a driver and a biker
“son of a fuck-you-bitch off the road”

toting whatever down all the applications
before the whole camp awakens overripe in humidity

“I want, I want”

straw hats, wool shawls
the crush of people looking for happiness
the weight of smoky music

they think they’re fleeing
the motors, chainsaws, traps
beer cans, luxuries, craving
for status above all
they bring to the wilderness

me, back home,
keyboarding with electric heat

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Copyright 2015

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