Monday, November 7, 2016

interstate ave octet #3

boards weathered gray screwed off kilter to posts:
a corral for a plywood-clad gas station—

plum leaves curled at the edge drop next to the fence;
I wish you could see them float this afternoon

as westward light opens involuntary
as eyes; katsuras lining the hospital

sleep naked: this raw gust catches my breath short:
sun divides black clouds with blinding white surprise

Jack Hayes
© 2016

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