Robin Wyatt Dunn, Summer 2017

the long glare of the barren moor shakes the body into sleep
like an old book
still reading itself after you’re done




leer churlish over your meal
out the window, children are singing
the red sky is blood
and everything you had has been taken from you
you’ve never felt more alive




heigh and heiratic my babe is crying
mixing the music with the foam of her sea
all music and theater caresses her cheek
on her glum spin out over the dark

we watch her too
looking for notes

Promote. Poetry.
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