Symbiosis
Peel back the clear acetate
overlays
one jam-packed page at a
time; seven lane
arteries, skeletal utility
towers loitering around lopped
hilltops
capped with a church or a
walmart, great cooled
hangers filled with
milling souls waiting to
board flights of fancy,
soaring cathedrals
to St. Elvis who died for
our sins, the
endless buffet lines that,
laid end to end,
would stretch all the way
to the Creation
Museum and back, to reveal
a range
of blue mountains,
backdrop for two horses
standing nose to tail in a
field next to
a road, just a few strands
of barbed wire
between us, bottle green
flies thick around
flaring nostrils and
glistening brown eyes,
motionless except for
switching tails that
sweep their big open faces
clean if just
for a moment, posed
eternal tableau.
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