Fall 2010

Highway 74, Open the Breathing Machine

Lay out all the breath
All the firesmoke in our hair
What about the earthquake drill, the color wheel, the avalanche of
Arms grow down the asphalt,
the new tar, the auto glass, shines like snow
every mile a waiting room, a music video
and somewhere there’s a line, “It’s all very beautiful,”
a cloud, you know, some smudge




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