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Border Town Dawn/There's a Momentary Cloud (Reach for the Sky)


by Darryl Price


Border town meant
one thing; we were
caught up real good in
 
the middle of
something preternaturally dangerous;
and understanding
 
was at
the very least
a hundred miles or so
 
away in either
direction.
All I can remember
 
is wanting
to tell you that
when you sat down
 
and got up again
your butt crack
made an unexpected
 
appearance.
Like a bright
moon that wasn't
 
there a moment
ago. You're not
sad about the
 
fact just surprised. 
I'm not complaining.
I just want
 
to do my duty
as your witness
and,well, your
 
sometimes friend. Man,
that is some white,
white sand! Okay,
 
okay, you can't
expect me not
to notice. Plus
 
I'm no good at
pretending.I'm
just saying,whoa.
 
dp   01/18/11


There's a momentary cloud

pleading with some deaf stars to come all the way outside. We
could always share that small of an awareness I suppose. There's an
unmolested tree way over there in the angel field. Jesus,I think it sees
us. If there was a brand new kind of

naked moon casually washing itself down by the river couldn't
we just sneak up on it, real soft like all silently like and grab
it quick enough in your sweet silk shawl  
like a new born baby owl,carry
it all the way home with us like a lost treasure? Oh just for

the night? We'd release it back
into the wild by morning.
But I don't need any of
that smoking watery lake
effect to hear the getting too close for comfort to

the insides of my eyeballs come
calling lullabies of fame and fortune
carving themselves into my
sand grain by grain. No, Sir! After all
this time I am, and I remain

only your last fool still hanging
around like a no hunting
sign once tacked up to a locked fence
and now turned upside down by
the town's old clocks and rusted to

the spot like a blood stain. Useless
from its original
purpose which was only to
warn you that you are hereby
protected from the swarming

folly of my being all
about the yearning if it so
pleases you. For as you can see for me at least
this is not to be. The old cloud
has cried itself partly visible now.

Our tree's gnarled hands have fallen
over the hills into a
brush without a head. No, my
sea, better to leave me ripping
myself to shreds like an

unbuttoned shirt in the icy
winds until I am nothing more
to remember but something
that shuts once in a lifetime,and is
never heard from again.

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